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No.  H. 

MODERN  STANDARD  DRAMA. 

FAZIO: 

^ ^^rageb'g, 

IN  FIVE  ACTS. 

BY  REV.  H.  H.  MILMAN. 

FROM  THE  author’s  LATEST  EDITION. 

With  ithe  Stage  Directions,  Description  of  Costumes,  &c. 


NEW- YORK: 

PUBLISHED  BY  BERFORD  & CO., 

NO.  2 ASTOR  HOUSE. 


PRICE  .12^  CENTS. 


s < 


# 


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I;-'. 

' : 


V^ 


■% 


II. 

MODERN  STANDARD  DRAMA. 

EDITED  BY  EPES  SARGENT, 

Authou  of  “Velasco,  a Tragedy,”  Sec. 


FAZIO: 

Oil, 

THE  ITALIAN  WIFE: 

A Cragelin. 

IN  FIVE  ACTS. 

BY  THE  REV.  H.  H.  MILMAN. 

WITH  STAGE  DIRECTIONS,  AND  COSTUMES,  MARKED  AND  CORRECTBfi 
BY  J.  B.  ADDIS,  PROMPTER. 


NEW  YORK: 

BERFORD  & CO.,  No.  2 ASTOR  HOUSE. 


1847. 


EDITORIAL  INTRODUCTION. 


Henry  Hart  Mil  man,  the  author  of  Fazio,  and  many 
Jther  works,  poetical  and  historical,  was  bom  in  London, 
February  10th,  1791 ; and  was  the  youngest  son  of  Sir 
Francis  Milman,  a physician  of  eminence.  After  passing 
line  years  at  Eton,  our  poet  went  to  Oxford,  at  which 
Jniversity  he  obtained  the  greatest  number  of  prizes  that 
wer  fell  to  the  lot  of  one  individual.  Some  of  these 
vere  for  English  and  some  for  Latin  compositions. 

In  the  year  1817,  Mr.  Milman  entered  into  holy  orders, 
nd  in  1821,  he  was  elected  professor  of  poetry  in  the 
Jniversity,  an  office,  which,  we  believe,  he  still  continues 
D hold.  The  works  by  which  he  was  first  distinguished 
/ere  principally  poetical ; and  of  these  Fazio’’  was  the 
rst.  It  was  followed  by  The  Fall  of  Jerusalem,’* 
Samor,  an  heroic  poem,”  Anne  Boleyn,”  “ The  Mar- 
jrr  of  Antioch,”  and  other  productions  evincing  great 
rarnatic  ability  and  a chastened  taste.  Of  late  years,  his 
ibours  appear  to  have  been  of  a different  character.  He 
as  contributed  largely  to  the  Quarterly  Review;  and 
is  « History  of  the  Jews,”  and  ‘‘Notes  to  Gibbon’s 
decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire,”  have  given  him 
high  rank  as  a historian. 


vi 


The  play  of  ‘‘  Fazio”  was  written  while  Mr.  Milman 
was  at  Oxford,  and  was  published  somewhere  near  his 
twenty-fifth  year.  It  found  its  way  upon  the  stage  with- 
out his  interference,  and  indeed  without  his  consent  being 
in  any  single  instance  solicited. 

“ Its  first  appearance,”  says  the  author,  was,  I believe, 
at  the  Surrey  Theatre,  where  it  was  brought  forward  under 
the  name  of  ‘ The  Italian  Wife,’  and  it  had  been  acted 
some  time  before  I was  aware  that  the  piece  of  that  name 
was  my  work.  That  theatre  was  then,  I believe,  only 
licensed  for  operatic  performances,  but  the  company  con- 
trived to  elude  this  restriction  by  performing  all  kinds  of 
Dramas  with  what  they  called  a musical  accompaniment 
Every  now  and  then  the  string  of  a solitary  violin  waj 
heard,  when  the  actors  went  on  in  their  parts  without  th( 
slightest  regard  to  the  said  accompaniment,  and  so  repre 
sented  any  regular  drama  which  might  suit  their  purpose 
It  was  in  this  manner  that  I first  saw  the  performance  oi 
Fazio,  but  I remember  that  the  actress,  who  personate^ 
Bianca,  was  by  no  means  deficient  in  power,  and  onl; 
wanted  a better  audience  to  improve  her  taste.  Fazi; 
was  afterwards  acted  with  complete  success  at  Bath,  anj 
this,  I believe,  inclined  the  managers  of  Covent  Garden  tj 
bring  it  forward  on  the  London  stage.  This  was  doit 
without  even  the  common  courtesy  of  giving  me  notice  i, 
their  intention.  The  first  information  which  I receive 
on  the  subject,  was  the  request  of  Mr.  C,  Kemble,  wit 
whom  I was  then  but  slightly  acquainted,  through  my  int 
mate  friend,  his  gifted  sister,  Mrs.  Siddons,  to  permit  hii 
to  read  the  part  of  Fazio  to  me.” 

The  play  is  founded  on  a story,  which  was  quoted  i 


vii 


tho  Annual  Register  for  1795,  from  the  Varieties  of 
Literature  but  great  liberties  have  been  taken  with  it. 
Some  of  the  materials  employed  in  it  may  also  be  found 
among  the  tales  of  Boccacio. 

Miss  O’Neill  first  made  the  reputation  of  Fazio  as  an 
acting  drama  by  her  impressive  acting  in  Bianca.  This  part 
was  afterwards  performed  with  great  success  both  in  En- 
gland and  the  United  States,  by  Miss  Kemble,  whose  per- 
sonation of  the  character  must  ever  live  in  the  remembrance 
of  those  who  had  the  good  fortune  to  witness  it.  Indeed, 
few  parts,  in  the  whole  range  of  the  British  drama,  afford 
such  a scope  for  the  exercise  of  the  powers  of  a tragic 
actress  of  great  genius.  Intense  as  are  the  passions  de- 
picted, there  is  nothing  overstrained  in  the  language  and 
sentiments,  to  which  the  frenzied  wife  gives  utterance. 
The  heart  of  a popular  audience  sympathises  with  her 
deeply  and  painfully  throughout. 

Fazio”  is  no  less  worthy  of  admiration  in  the  closet 
vhan  it  is  deeply  interesting  in  the  represeutation.  It  will, 
;e  believe,  long  be  regarded  as  one  of  the  most  felicitous 
dramatic  productions,  that  have  infused  hope  and  life  into 
the  stage  since  the  Shakspearian  era. 


CASX  OF  CHARACTERS. 

_ , , ‘P'"'*.  1832.‘  Park,  1846. 

Bufe!  of  Florence Mr.  Clarke.  Mr.  Stark 

- inderaon. 

: ::  sprag„e. 

“ ;;  “ Bar^T'*- 

fkaario  ."I.'.'."’'."”";”";;.":;;;;  ..  FivSnT'  ••  s' 

Theodore  * * * n tt  ^ * Sutherland 

Jtofi^o  Harvey.  , « M‘  Douall. 

pieroZ::::::: “ 

“ Nexaen  Ma«hew,. 

Miss  Fanuy Kemble.  Mrs.  Mowatt. 

Mrs.  Durie.  Miss  Hall. 

Senators,  Guards,  ifc. 

, * Miss  Fanny  Kemble’s  first  appearance  in  America. 


COSTUMES. 


FAZIO.— First  drees : Brown  doublet  and  trunks,  trimmed  and  pulfed  with  black 
fiat  and  stockings  to  match;  brown  Spanish  cloak.— tSccowrf  dress : Light-coloured 
tunic  with  gold  embroidery,  white  pantaloons,  russet  boots,  hat  and  feathers.— 
Third  dress : Similar  to  first. 

BARTOLO. — Dark-coloured  doublet  and  trunks,  dark  breeches,  and  hat. 

DUKE.— Velvet  dress  of  crimson  or  lilac,  with  purple  robe,  richly  embroidered  w ith 
gold ; velvet  cap  and  feather. 

GONSALVO  and  AURIO.— Scarlet  gowns  trimmed  with  ermine,  amLblack  caps. 

’iHEODORE  and  ANTONIO. — Fancy-coloured  jackets,  blue  silk  sashes,  buff  pan^ 
taloons,  russet  boots,  round  hats  and  plumes. 

PIERO. — Gray  doublet,  trimmed,  trunks  and  stockings. 

PHILAI^O,  FA^^ETTO,  and  DANDOLO. — After  the  style  of  Fazio’s  second 
dress,  but  of  different  colours. 


BIANCA.— First  dress : Slate-coloured  robe  trimmed  Avitli  black  velvet,  with  a gir- 
dle of  the  same. — Second  dress:  Rich  satin  dress,  with  a purple  flowing  robe  em- 
broidered with  gold. — Third  dress : Similar  to  the  first. 

ALDABELLA.— White  satin  dress  with  straw-coloured  silk  boddice  and  train 
richly  ornamented  with  gold  and  silver, 

CLARA.— Plain  white  dresa 


EXITS  AND  ENTRANCES. 

R.  means  Right;  L.  Left;  R.  D.  Right  Door;  L.  D.  Left  Door; 
8.  B.  Second  Entrance;  U.  E.  Upper  Entrance;  M.  D.  Middle  Door. 

RELATIVE  POSITIONS. 

B.,  means  l,.,Left-  C.,  Centre ; S- C.,  Right  of  Centro; 

L.  C Left  of  Centre^ 


Passages  marked  with  Inverted  Commas,  are  usnally  omitted  in  tht 
representation. 


FAZIO: 

■%  SCrageJrg. 


A C T I. 

Scene  I. — A Room  with  cntcihles  and  apparatus  of  AL* 
chymy. 

Enter  Fazio  and  Bianca,  r. 

Faz,  (r.  c.)  Why,  what  a peevish,  envious  fabulist 
Was  he,  that  vowed  cold  wedlock’s  atmosphere 
Wearies  the  thin  and  dainty  plumes  of  love  ; 

That  a fond  husband’s  holy  appetite. 

Like  the  gross  surfeit  of  intemperate  joy. 

Grows  sickly  and  fastidious  at  the  sweets 
Of  its  own  chosen  flower  ! My  own  Bianca 
With  what  delicious  scorn  we  laugh  away 
Such  sorry  satire  ! 

Bian»  (l.  c. ) Which  of  thy  smooth  books 
Teaches  this  harmony  of  bland  deceit  ? « 

Oh,  my  own  Fazio  ! if  a serpent  told  me 
That  it  was  stingless  in  a tone  like  thine, 

I should  believe  it.  Oh,  thou  sweetly  false  ! 

That  at  cold  midnight  quitt’st  my  side  to  pore 
O’er  musty  tomes,  dark  sign’d  and  character’d 
O’er  boiling  skellets,  carucibles  and  stills, 

Drugs  and  elixirs. 

Faz,  Ay,  chide  on,  my  love ; 

The  nightingale’s  complaining  is  more  sweet. 


10 


FAZIO. 


[Acnr  1 


Than  half  the  dull  unvarying  birds  that  pipe 
Perpetual  amorous  joy. — Tell  me,  Bianca, 

How  long  is’t  since  we  wedded  ? 

Bian,  Would’st  thou  know 
The  right  and  title  to  thy  weariness  1 — 

Beyond  two  years. 

Faz,  Days,  days,  Bianca ! Love 
Hath  in  its  calendar  no  tedious  time, 

So  long  as  what  cold  lifeless  souls  call  years. 

Oh,  with  my  books,  my  sage  philosophy. 

My  infants,  and  their  mother,  time  slides  on 
So  smoothly,  as  ^twere  fall’n  asleep,  forgetting 
Its  heaven-ordained  motion.  We  are  poor ; 

But  in  the  wealth  of  love,  in  that,  Bianca, 

In  that  we  are  eastern  sultans.  I have  thought. 

If  that  my  wondrous  alchymy  should  win 
That  precious  liquor,  whose  transmuting  dew 
Makes  the  black  iron  start  forth  brilliant  gold. 

Were  it  not  wise  to  cast  it  back  again 
Into  its  native  darkness  ] 

Bian,  Out  upon  it ! — 

Oh,  leave  it  there,  my  Fazio  ! leave  it  there  !— 

I hate  it ! ’Tis  my  rival,  ’tis  thy  mistress  ! 

Ay,  this  it  is  that  makes  thee  strange  and  restless, 

A truant  to  thine  own  Bianca’s  arms, 

This  wondrous  secret. 

Faz,  Dost  thou  know,  Bianca, 

Our  neighbour,  old  Bartolo  ? 

Bian,  O yes,  yes 

That  yellow  wretch,  that  looks  as  he  were  stain’d 
With  watching  his  own  gold  ; every  one  knows  him, 
Enough  to  loathe  him.  Not  a friend  hath  he. 

Nor  kindred  nor  familiar ; not  a slave. 

Not  a lean  serving  wench  ; nothing  e’er  entered 
But  his  spare  self  within  his  jealous  doors. 

Except  a wandering  rat ; and  that,  they  say. 

Was  famine-struck,  and  died  there. — What  of  him  ) 
Faz,  Yet  he,  Bianca,  he  is  of  our  rich  ones  : 
There’s  not  a galliot  on  the  sea,  but  bears 
A venture  of  Bartolo’s  ; not  an  acre, 

Nay,  not  a villa  cf  our  proudest  princes, 


Scene  I.J 


FAZIO. 


11 


But  he  hath  cramp’d  it  with  a mortgage ; he, 

He  only  stocks  our  prisons  with  his  debtors. 

I saw  him  creeping  home  last  night : he  shuddered 
As  he  unlock’d  his  door,  and  looked  around 
As  if  he  thought  that  every  breath  of  wind 
VV ere  some  kv^en  thief : and  when  he  lock’d  him  in, 

I lieard  the  grating  key  turn  twenty  times, 

To  try  if  all  were  safe.  I look’d  again 

From  our  high  window  by  mere  chance,  and  saw 

The  motion  of  his  scanty  moping  lantern  ; 

And,  where  his  wind-rent  lattice  was  ill  stuffed 
With  tattered  remnants  of  a mojiey-bag. 

Through  cobwebs  and  tliick  dust  k^pied  his  face, 

Like  some  dry  wither-boned  anatomy, 

Through  a huge  chest-lid,  jealously  and  scantily 
[Jplifted,  peering  upon  coin  and  jewels. 

Ingots  and  wedges,  and  broad  bars  of  gold, 

ITpon  whose  lustre  the  wan  light  shone  muddily, 

As  though  the  New  W^orld  had  outrun  the  Spaniard, 

And  emptied  all  its  mines  in  that  coarse  hovel. 

His  ferret  eyes  gloated  as  wanton  o’er  them, 

As  a gross  Satyr  on  a sleeping  Nymph ! 

And  then,  as  he  heard  something  like  a sound, 
lie  clapp’d  the  lid  to,  and  blew  out  the  lantern. 

And  I,  Bianca,  hurried  to  thy  arms, 

And  thanked  my  God  that  I had  braver  riches. 

Blan.  Oh,  then,  let  that  black  furnace  burst ! dash  down 
Those  ugly  and  mis-shaijen  jars  and  vials. 

Nay,  nay,  most  sage  philosopher,  to-night. 

At  least  to-nig]it,  be  only  thy  Bianca’s.  [She  clings  to  him, 
Faz.  f Looking  fondly  on  her.)  Why,  e’en  the  prince  of 
bards  was  false  and  slanderous. 

Who  girt  Jove’s  bride  in  that  voluptuous  zone, 

Ei'e  she  could  win  her  weary  lord  to  love  : 

While  my  earth-bom  Bianca  bears  by  nature 
An  ever-blooming  cestus  of  delight ! 

Bian.  So  courtly  and  so  fanciful,  my  Fazio  ! 

Which  of  our  dukes  hath  lent  thee  his  cast  poesies  ? 

Why,  such  a musical  and  learned  phrase 
Had  soften’d  the  marches  a,  Aldabella, 

That  high  signora,  who  once  pamper’d  thee 


13 


FAZIO. 


[AotL 


Almost  to  madness  with  her  rosy  smiles ; 

And  then  my  lady  queen  put  on  her  winter, 

And  froze  thee  till  thou  wert  a very  icicle, 

Had  not  the  lowly  and  despised  Bianca 
Shone  on  it  with  the  summer  of  her  pity ! 

Faz.  Nay,  taunt  not  her,  Bianca,  taunt  not  her! 
Thy  Fazio  loved  her  once.  Who,  who  would  blame 
Heaven’s  moon,  because  a maniac  hath  adored  it, 
And  died  in  his  dotage  ? E’en  a saint  might  wear 
Proud  Aldabella’s  scorn,  nor  look  less  heavenly. 

Oh,  it  dropp’d  balm  upon  the  wounds  it  gave  ; 

The  soul  was  pleased  to  be  so  sweetly  wrong’d, 

And  misery  grew  rapturous.  Aldabella  ! 

The  gracious ! the  melodious ! Oh,  the  words 
Laugh’d  on  her  lips  ; the  motion  of  her  smiles 
Shower’d  beauty,  as  the  air-caressed  spray 
The  dews  of  morning  ; and  her  stately  steps 
Were  light  as  though  a winged  angel  trod 
Over  earth’s  flowers,  and  feared  to  brush  away 
Their  delicate  hues  ; ay,  e’en  her  very  robes 
Were  animate  and  breathing,  as  they  felt 
The  presence  of  her  loveliness,  spread  around 
Their  thin  and  gauzy  clouds,  ministering  freely 
Officious  duty  on  the  shrine  where  Nature 
Hath  lavish’d  all  her  skill. 

Bian,  A proud  loose  wanton  ! 

Faz.  She  wanton ! — Aldabella  loose  ! — Then,  than 
Are  the  pure  lilies  black  as  soot  within. 

The  stainless  virgin  snow  is  hot  and  rancid. 

And  chastity — ay,  it  may  be  in  heaven. 

But  all  beneath  the  moon  is  wild  and  haggard. 

If  she  be  spotted,  oh,  unholiness 
Hath  never  been  so  delicately  lodged 
Since  that  bad  devil  walk’d  fair  Paradise. 

Bian.  Already  silent  % Hath  your  idol  quaff’d 
Enough  of  your  soft  incense  ? Fazio  ! Fazio  ! 

But  that  her  gaudy  bark  would  aye  disdain 
The  quiet  stream  whereon  we  glide  so  smooth, 

I should  be  fearful  of  ye. 

Faz.  Nay,  unjust  1 
Ungenerous  Bianca ! who  foregoes, 


ScKNi:  1 ] 


FAZIO. 


13 


For  the  gay  revel  of  a golden  harp, 

Its  ecstacies  and  rich  enchanting  falls, 

His  own  domestic  lute’s  familiar  pleasing  ? 

But  thou,  thou  vain  and  wanton  in  thy  power. 

Thou  know’st  canst  make  e’en  jealousy  look  lovely, 

And  all  thy  punishment  for  that  bad  passion 
Be  this — [ Kisses  her  ] — Grood  night ! — I will  but  snatch  a 
look 

How  the  great  crucible  doth  its  slow  work. 

And  be  with  thee ; unless  thou  fanciest,  sweet. 

That  Aldabella  lurks  behind  the  furnace ; 

And  then,  Heaven  knows  how  long  I may  be  truant. 

[Exit  Bianca,  r. 

Faz,  (r.  c.  solus.)  Oh,  what  a star  of  the  first  magnitude 
Were  poor  young  Fazio,  if  his  skill  should  work 
The  wond’rous  secret  your  deep-closeted  sages 
Grow  grey  in  dreaming  of ! Why,  all  our  Florence 
Would  be  too  narrow  for  his  branching  glories  ; 

It  would  o’erleap  the  Alps,  and  all  the  north 
Troop  here  to  see  the  great  j)hiiosopher. 

He  would  be  wealthy  too — wealthy  in  fame ; 

And  that’s  more  golden  than  the  richest  gold. 

[A  groan  withouU 

Holy  St.  Francis  ! what  a groan  was  there  ! 

Ear.  ( Without ).  Within  there ! — Oh  ! within  there, 
neighbour  ! Death  ! 

Murder,  and  merciless  robbery  ! 

Fazio  opens  the  door— Enter  Bartolo. 

Faz,  What ! Bartolo  ! 

Bar,  Thank  ye,  my  friend  ! Ha ! ha  ! ha!  my  old  limbs ! 
1 did  not  think  them  half  so  tough  and  sinewy. 

St.  Dominic  ! but  their  pins  prick’d  close  and  keen. 

Six  of  ’em,  strong  and  sturdy,  with  their  daggers, 

Ticklinor  the  old  man  to  let  loose  his  ducats  ! 

o 

Faz,  Who,  neighbour,  who  ! 

Bar,  Robbers,  black  crape-faced  robbers. 

Your  only  blood-suckers,  that  drain  your  veins, 

And  yet  their  meagre  bodies  aye  grow  sparer. 

They  knew  that  I had  moneys  from  the  Duke, 

But  I o’erreach’d  them,  neighbour : not  a ducat, 

B 


14 


FAZIO. 


[Act  I 


Nay,  not  a doit,  to  cross  themselves  withal. 

Got  they  from  old  Bartolo. Oh,  I bleed  I 

And  my  old  heart  beats  minutes  like  a clock. 

Faz,  A surgeon,  friend ! 

Bar,  Ay,  one  of  your  kind  butchers, 

Who  cut  and  slash  your  flesh  for  their  own  pastime, 

And  then,  God  bless  the  mark  ! they  must  have  money  ! 
Gold,  gold,  or  nothing ! Silver  is  grown  coarse, 

And  rings  unhandsomely.  Have  I ’scaped  robbing, 

Only  to  give  ] Oh  there  ! there  ! there  ! Cold,  cold, 

Cold  as  December. 

Faz.  Nay,  then,  a confessor ! 

Bar.  A confessor ! one  of  your  black  smooth  talkers, 
That  drone  the  name  of  God  incessantly, 

Like  the  drear  burthen  of  a doleful  ballad  ! 

That  sing  to  one  of  bounteous  codicils 
To  the  Franciscans  or  some  hospital ! 

Oh ! tliere’s  a shooting ! — Oozing  here  ! — Ah  me. 

My  ducats  and  my  ingots  scarcely  cold 
From  the  hot  Indies  ! Oh  ! and  I forgot 
To  seal  those  jewels  from  the  Milan  Duke  ! 

Oh ! misery,  misery  ! — Just  this  very  day. 

And  that  mad  spendthrift  Angelo  hath  not  sign’d 
The  mortgage  on  those  meadows  by  the  Arno. 

Oh  ! misery,  misery  ! — Yet  I ’scap’d  them  bravely. 

And  brought  my  ducats  ofl’l [Dies 

Faz.  Why,  e’en  lie  there,  as  foul  a mass  of  earth 
As  overloaded  it.  ’Twere  sin  to  charity 
To  wring  one  drop  of  brine  upon  thy  corpse. 

In  sooth.  Death’s  not  nice-stomach’d,  to  be  crammed 

With  such  unsavoury  offal.  What  a god 

’Mong  men  might  this  dead  wither’d  thing  have  been, 

That  now  must  rot  beneath  the  earth,  as  once 
He  rotted  on  it ! Why,  his  wealth  had  won 
In  better  hands  an  atmosphere  around  him, 

Musical  ever  with  the  voice  of  blessing, — 

Nations  around  his  tomb,  like  marble  mourners, 

Vied  for  their  pedestals. — In  better  hands  ? 

Methinks  these  fingers  are  nor  coarse  nor  clumsy. 
Philosophy  ! Philosophy  ! thou’rt  lame 
And  tortoise-paced  to  my  fleet  desires  ! 


seem  a shorter  path  to  fame  and  riches. 

clusters  at  me 

ickhng  my  timorous  and  withdrawing  grasp  — 

• T " ^ reckoning. 

To-morrow,  ^ 

t that  It  find  me  poor,  will  write  me  fool 
ind  myself  be  a mock  unto  myself. 

^y,  and  the  body  murder’d  in  my  house  I 

SciwlTof^hp loathsome  insects- 
uspicion  1.  of  the  quickest  and  the  keenest 

o,  neighbour,  by  your  leave,  your  keys  ! In  sooth 
hou  hadst  no  desperate  love  for  holy  4urch  • 
.ongknolldd  bell  were  no  sweet  miisic  to  thee. 

. God  be  with  thee”  shall  be  all  thy  mass  • 
hou  never  loved’st  those  dry  and  droning  priests 
hou’lt  rot  most  cool  and  quiet  in  my  garden 
our  gay  and  gilded  vault  would  be  too  cesriy! 


Sewne  II.J 


FAZIO. 


16 


[Exit, 


Scene  II.— 4 Street. 


with  the  body  of  Bartolo. 


Enter  Fazio  with  a dark  lantern,  r. 

household  doff 
y every  hand,  and  fearing  none  . 

Ta^baJ^^  treasonous  wolf. 

! a have  none  on’t ; 

3 a bad  deed  to  roll— and  whom  ? the  dead  ? 

. of  their  winding-sheets  and  coffin  nails. 

) but  a quit-rent  for  the  land  I sold  him 
tost  two  yards  to  house  him  and  his  worms  • 
lewhat  usurious  m the  main,  but  that 
onest  thrift  to  your  keen*  usurer. 

■ he  a kinsman  nay  a friend,  ’twere  devilish, 
now  whom  rob  I ? why  the  state_In  sooffi 
\ellous  little  owe  I this  same  state, 

- 1 should  be  so  dainty  of  its  welfare, 
links  our  Duke  hath  pomp  enough;  our  Senate 
.their  scarlet  robes  and  e^ine  fippets  ’ 

live  in  proud  and  pillar’d  palaces/ 

-I  plentiful.— Besides 

^tter  It  abroad  amid  so  many,  ’ 


16 


FAZIO. 


[Act  1. 


Away ! »"">?  I ’’“K*  yedoseJoSi’a  treasures, 
?«“„5««g«3ie«  hues',  outshine  yourselves! 


\Exit^ 


Scene  III.— TAe  Street  near  Fazio's  door. 

Re-enter  Fazio  with  a sack,  r:  he  resU  it. 

wLn'ttoough''Ae'te^  mfflght  »"■  *»y 
TTrymP  to  their  brooding  mates,  mt  now. 

The  heavy  earth  doth  cling  around  my  ee  . 

I move  as  every 

With  its  particular  weight  ol  ; 

S-^LTX^XXsUaen  i 

HaXo'S XXtdXndlsy  weigta. 

The  stXs  whereon  I tread  do  gnmly  speak, 

IXSng  echoes,  ay,  wi.hhuTan  votcest  , 

Unbodied  anus  pluck  at  me  j 

And  socketless  P*’® mcthinks  this  weight  I 

Sigte  s?&  r^^LX^Stk  iSdXfcr  whai 

Ka1*^XmaXSwn  a.chvillmm 


Scene  IV.— Fazio's  House. 

Enter  Fazio  with  his  sack,  R.,  which  U opens  and  « 

1 d.ankye.hounteousthieve^  m«hWth.e,,f 

Your  daggers  are  my  worship.  H y P 


gCEWE  IV.] 


FAZIO. 


17 


The  broad  and  sharp-staked  trenches  of  the-  law, 

Mock’d  at  the  deep  damnation  that  attaints 
The  souls  of  murderers,  for  my  hands  unbloodied, 

As  delicately,  purely  white  as  ever, 

To  pluck  the  golden  fruitage  'I  Oh,  I thank  ye, 

Will  chronicle  ye,  my  good  friends  and  true. 

Etiter  BiAxXca  l. — Fazio  conceals  the  treasure. 

Elan,  (l.  c.)  Nay,  Fazio,  nay;  this  is  too  much:  nay, 
Fazio, 

ril  not  be  humoured  like  a froward  child. 

Trick’d  into  sleep  w’itli  pretty  tuneful  tales. 

Faz.  (r.  c.)  We  feast  the  Duke  to-morrow  ; shall  it  be 
In  the  Adorni  or  Vitelli  palace  ? 

They’re  both  on  sale,  and  each  is  fair  and  lofty, 

Biaji.  Why,  Fazio,  art  thou  frantic]  Nay,  look  not 
So  strangely — so  unmeaningly.  I had  rather 
That  thou  would’st  weep,  than  look  so  wildly  joyful. 

Faz.  Ay,  and  a glorious  banquet  it  shall  be  : 

Cray  servants  in  as  proiicl  caparisons, 

As  though  they  served  immortal  gods  with  nectar. 

Ay,  ay,  Bianca  ! there  shall  be  a princess  ; 

She  shall  be  lady  of  the  feast.  Let’s  see 

Your  gold  and  crimson  for  your  fair-hair’d  beauties  : — 

It  shall  be  gold  and  crimson.  Dost  thou  know 
The  princess  that  I mean  ] — Dost  thou,  Bianca  ? 

Elan.  Nay,  if  thou  still  wilt  flout  me.  I’ll  not  weep  : 
Thou  shalt  not  have  the  pitiful  bad  pleasure 
Of  wringing  me  to  misery.  I’ll  be  cold 
And  patient  as  a statue  of  my  wrongs. 

Faz.  I have  just  thought,  Bianca,  these  black  stills 
An  ugly  and  ill-fitting  furniture  : 

We’ll  try  an  they  are  brittle.  [Fashing  them  in 'pieces.)  I’ll 
have  gilding, 

Nothing  but  gilding,  nothing  but  what  looks  glittering  : 
I’m  sick  of  black  and  dingy  darkness.  Here, 

( Uncovering  the  sack^ 

Look  here,  Bianca,  here’s  a light!  Take  care  ; 

Thine  eyesight  is  too  weak  for  such  a blaze. 

It  is  not  daylight ; nay,  it  is  not  mom — 


18 


FAZIO 


[Act  II. 


And  every  one  is  worth  a thousand  florins. 

Who  shall  be  princess  of  the  feast  to-morrow  ] 

hursts  into  tears. 

Within,  within,  1*11  tell  thee  all  within.  [Exeunt  l. 

END  OF  ACT  I. 


♦ 


AC  T II. 

SCENE  I. — A Hall  in  the  Palace  of  Fazio. 

Enter  Falsetto,  Dandolo,  Philario,  and  a Gentle- 
man. 

Fal.  Serve  ye  lord  Fazio  % 

Gent,  Ay,  sir,  he  honours  me 

With  his  commands. 

Fal,  *Tis  a brave  gentleman  ! 

Tell  him  Signior  Falsetto,  and  Philario 
The  most  renowned  Improvisatore, 

And  Signior  Dandolo,  the  court  fashionist, 

Present  their  duty  to  him. 

Gent,  Ay,  good  sirs. 

{Aside,)  My  master  hath  a Midas  touch  ; these  fellows 
Will  try  if  he  hath  ears  like  that  great  king.  [Exit  l. 

Enter  Fazio,  splendidly  dressed^  l. 

Fal,  (r.  c.)  Most  noble  lord,  most  wonderful  philosopher  1 
We  come  to  thank  thee,  sir,  that  thou  dost  honour 
Our  Florence  with  the  sunlight  of  your  fame. 

Thou  that  hast  ravish’d  nature  of  a secret 
That  maketh  thee  her  very  paragon  : 

She  can  but  create  gold,  and  so  canst  thou  ; 

But  she  doth  bury  it  in  mire  and  murk. 

Within  the  unsunn*  d bowels  of  the  earth  ; 

But  thou  dost  set  it  on  the  face  of  the  world, 

Making  it  shame  its  old  and  sullen  darkness. 


ScEIfE  I.] 


FAZIO. 


19 


Faz,  (c,)  Fair  sir,  this  cataract  of  courtesy 
Overwhelms  my  weak  and  unhabituate  ears. 

If  I may  venture  such  uncivil  ignorance, 

Your  quality  ? 

Fal.  I,  my  good  lord,  am  one 

Have  such  keen  eyesight  for  my  neighbour’s  virtues, 

And  such  a doting  love  for  excellence, 

That  when  I see  a wise  man,  or  a noble. 

Or  wealthy,  as  I ever  hold  it  pity 
Man  should  be  blind  to  his  own  merits,  words 
Slide  from  my  lips  ; and  I do  mirror  him 
In  the  clear  glass  of  my  poor  eloquence. 

Faz.  In  coarse  and  honest  phraseology, 

A flatterer.  ’ * 

Fal.  Flatterer  ! Nay,  the  word’s  grown  gross. 

An  apt  discourser  upon  things  of  honour. 

Professor  of  art  panegyrical. 

’Twere  ill,  were  I a hawk,  to  see  such  bravery. 

And  not  a thrush  to  sing  of  it.  Wealth,  sir. 

Wealth  is  the  robe  and  outward  garb  of  man. 

The  setting  to  the  rarer  jewelry. 

The  soul’s  unseen  and  inner  qualities. 

And  then,  my  lord,  philosophy  ! ’tis  that. 

The  stamp  and  impress  of  our  divine  nature, 

By  which  we  know  that  we  are  gods,  and  are  so. 

But  wealth  and  wisdom  in  one  spacious  breast ! 

Who  would  not  hymn  so  rare  and  rich  a wedding  ] 

Who  would  not  serve  within  the  gorgeous  palace, 
Glorified  by  such  strange' and  admired  inmates'? 

Faz.  ( aside.)  Now  the  poor  honest  Fazio  had  disdain’d 
Such  scurvy  fellowship  ; howbeit.  Lord  Fazio 
Must  lacquey  his  new  state  with  these  base  jackalls. 

(To  him)  Fair  sir,  you’ll  honour  me  with  your  company. 
( To  Dan.)  May  I make  bold,  sir,  with  your  state  and  title  ? 

Dan.  Oh,  my  lord,  by  the  falling  of  your  robe. 

Your  cloth  of  gold  one  whole  hair’s-breadth  too  low, 

’Tis  manifest  you  know  not  Signior  Dandolo. 

Faz.  A pitiable  lack  of  knowledge,  sir. 

Dan.  My  lord,  thou  hast  before  thee  in  thy  presence 
The  mirror  of  the  court,  the  very  calendar 
That  rules  the  swift  revolving  round  of  fashion ; 


20 


FAZIO 


Aot  11 


Doth  tell  what  hues  do  suit  what  height  o’  the  sun ; 

When  your  spring  pinks  should  banish  from  the  court 
Your  sober  winter  browns  ; when  July  heat 
Doth  authorize  the  gay  and  flaunting  yellows ; — 

The  court  thermometer,  that  doth  command 

Your  three-piled  velvet  abdicate  its  state 

For  the  airy  satins.  Oh,  my  lord,  you  are  too  late, 

At  least  three  days,  with  your  Venetian  tissue. 

Faz,  I sorrow,  sir,  to  merit  your  rebuke 
On  point  so  weighty.  , 

Dan,  Ay,  signior.  Pm  paramount 
In  all  affairs  of  boot,  and  spur,  and  hose ; 

In  matters  of  the  robe  and  cap,  supreme  ; 

In  ruff  disputes,  my  lord,  there’s  no  appeal 
From  my  irrefragibility. 

Faz,  ' Sweet  sir, 

I fear  me,  such  despotic  rule  and  sway 

Over  the  persons  of  our  citizens 

Must  be  of  danger  to  our  state  of  Florence. 

Dan.  Good  sooth,  my  lord,  I am  a very  tyrant. 

Why,  if  a senator  should  presume  to  wear 
A cloak  of  fur  in  June,  I should  indict  him 
Guilty  of  leze-majest6  against  my  kingship  : 

They  call  me  Dandolo,  the  King  of  Fashions — 

The  whole  empire  of  dress  is  my  dominion. 

Why,  if  our  Duke  should  wear  an  ill-grain’d  colour 
Against  my  positive  enactment,  though 
His  state  might  shield  him  from  the  palpable  shame 
Of  a rebuke,  yet,  my  good  lord,  opinion. 

Public  opinion,  would  hold  signior  Dandolo 
Merciful  in  his  silence. 

Faz,  A Lycurgus ! 

Dan,  Good,  my  lord  ! dignity  must  be  upheld 
On  the  strong  pillars  of  severity. 

Your  cap,  my  lord,  a little  to  the  north-east. 

And  your  sword — thus,  my  lord — pointed  out  this  way, 

[Adjusting  Am. 

In  an  equilateral  triangle.  Nay, 

Nay,  on  my  credit,  my  good  lord,  this  hose 
Is  a fair  woof.  The  ladies,  sir,  the  ladies, 

(For  I foresee  you’ll  be  a ruling  planet,) 


Sciiifs  I.] 


FAZIO. 


21 

Must  not  be  taught  any  heretical  fancies, 

Fantastical  infringements  of  my  codes 

Your  lordship  must  give  place  to  Signior  Dandolo 
About  their  persons. 

* Gentle  sir,  the  ladies 

Must  be  too  deeply,  iri’esistibly  yours. 

! fignior,  no;  I’m  not  one  of  the  gallants, 

1 hat  pine  for  a fair  lip,  or  eye,  or  cheek, 

I Or  that  poetical  treasure,  a true  heart, 
j But,  my  lord,  a fair-ordered  head-dress  makes  me 
I As  love-sick  as  a dove  at  mating-time ; 

I A tasteful  slipper  is  my  soul’s  delight': 

I Oh,  I adore  a robe  that  drops  and  floats 
I As  it  were  lighter  than  the  air  around  it  ; 

I doat  upon  a stomacher  to  distraction, 

I When  the  gay  jewels,  gracefully  dispos’d, 

I Make  it  a zone  of  stars  : and  then  a fan. 

The  elegant  motion  of  a fan  is  murder, 

Positive  murder  to  my  poor  weak  senses. 

Faz,  [ c.  turning  to  Philario,  ) But  here’s  a third : the 
improvisatore. 

Gentle  Philario,  lurks,  methinks,  behind. 

Phil  ( L.  c. ) Most  noble  lord ! it  were  his  loftiest  boast 
1 o wed  your  honours  to  his  harp.  To  hymn 
iThe  finder  of  the  philosophic  stone. 

The  sovereign  prince  of  alchymists  ; ’twould  make 
il he  cold  verse-mechanist,  the  nice  balancer 
□f  curious  words  and  fair  compacted  phrases, 

Burst  to  a liquid  and  melodious  flow, 
iRapturous  and  ravishing  but  in  praise  of  thee  f 
|Dut  I,  my  lord,  that  have  the  fluent  vein, 

[The  rapid  rush — 

\ Faz.  Fie,  sir  ! Oh  fie  I ’tis  fulsome. 

|5ir,  there’s  a soil  fit  for  that  rank  weed  flattery 
To  trail  its  poisonous  and  obscene  clusters  : 

poet’s  soul  should  bear  a richer  fruitage — 
the  aconite  ^ew  not  in  Eden.  Thou, 
rhat  thou,  with  lips  tipt  with  the  fire  of  heaven, 

Lh  excursive  eye,  that  in  its  earth- wide  range 
Jnnks  m the  grandeur  and  the  loveliness, 
hat  breathes  along  this  high- wrought  world  of  man  ; 


22 


FAZIO. 


[Act  II, 


That  hast  within  thee  apprehensions  strong 
Of  all  that’s  pure  and  passionless  and  heavenly — 

That  thou,  a vapid  and  a mawkish  parasite, 

Should ’st  pipe  to  that  witch  Fortune’s  favourites  ! 

’Tis  coarse — ’tis  sickly — ’tis  as  though  the  eagle 
Should  spread  his  sail-broad  wings  to  flap  a dunghill ; 
As  though  a pale  and  withering  pestilence 
Should  ride  the  golden  chariot  of  the  sun ; 

As  one  should  use  the  language  of  the  gods 
To  chatter  loose  and  ribald  brothelry. 

Phil,  My  lord,  I thank  thee  for  that  noble  chiding— 
Oh,  my  lord,  ’tis  the  curse  and  brand  of  poesy. 

That  it  must  trim  its  fetterless  free  plumes 
To  the  gross  fancies  of  the  humoursome  age ; 

That  it  must  stoop  from  its  bold  heights  to  court 
Liquorish  opinion,  whose  aye  wavering  breath 
Is  to  it  as  the  precious  air  of  life. 

Oh  ! in  a capering,  chambering,  wanton  land, 

The  lozel’s  song  alone  gains  audience. 

Fine  loving  ditties,  sweet  to  sickliness ; 

The  languishing  and  luscious  touch  alone 
Of  all  the  full  harp’s  ecstacies,  can  detain 
The  palled  and  pampered  ear  of  Italy. 

But,  my  lord,  we  have  deeper  mysteries 
For  the  initiate — Hark ! — it  bursts  ! — ^it  flows ! 


Song.— Philario. 

Rich  and  Royal  Italy  ! 

Dominion’s  lofty  bride ! 

Earth  deem’d  no  loss  of  pride  , 

To  be  enslaved  by  thee. 

From  broad  Euphrates’  bank. 

When  the  sun  look’d  through  the  gloom, 
Thy  eagle’s  golden  plume 
His  orient  splendour  drank ; 

And  when  ai  eve  he  set 
Far  in  the  chamber’d  west. 

That  bird  of  brilliance  yet 
Bathed  in  his  gorgeous  rest. 


•csjor  I.] 


FAZIO. 


23 


Sad  and  sunken  Italy  ! 

The  plunderer’s  common  prey ! 
When  saw  the  eye  of  day 
So  very  a slave  as  thee  ? 

Long,  long  a bloody  stage 
For  petty  kinglings  tame, 

Their  miserable  game^ 

Of  puny  war  to  wage. 

Or  from  the  northern  star 

Come  haughty  despots  down, 
With  iron  hand  to  share 
Thy  bruised  and  broken  crown  J 

Fair  and  fervid  Italy  ! 

Lady  of  each  gentler  art, 

Yet  couldst  thou  lead  the  heart 
In  mild  captivity. 

Warm  Raphael’s  Virgin  sprung 
To  worship  and  to  love  ; 

The  enamour’d  air  above 
Rich  clouds  of  music  hung. 

Thy  poets  bold  and  free 
Did  noble  wrong  to  time, 

In  their  high  rhymed  majesty 
Ravishing  thy  clime. 

Loose  and  languid  Italy ! 

Where  now  the  magic  power, 
That  in  thy  doleful  hour 
Made  a queen  of  thee  ] 

The  pencil  cold  and  dead, 

Whose  lightest  touch  was  life ; 
The  old  immortal  strife 
Of  thy  high  poets  fled. 

From  her  inglorious  urn 
Will  Italy  arise  ? 

Will  golden  days  return 

’Neath  the  azure  of  her  skies  ] 

This  is  done,  oh  ! this  is  done, 
When  the  broken  land  is  one  ; 
This  shall  be,  oh  ! this  shall  be., 
When  the  slavish  land  is  free  ! 


24 


FAZIO. 


[Act  li. 


Scene  II. — The  Viiblic  Walks  of  Florence, 

Enter  Fazio,  Falsetto,  Dandolo,  and  Piiilario,  r. 

Fal,  (l.  c.)  Yonder,  my  lord,  is  the  lady  Aldabella, 

The  star  of  admiration  to  all  Florence. 

Dan,  (c.)  There,  my  lord,  there  is  a faiv  drooping  robe- 
Would  that  I were  a breath  of  wind  to  float  it ! 

Faz,[h,)  Gentlemen,  by  your  leave  I would  salute  her. 
Ye  dl  meet  me  anon  in  the  Piazza.  [Exeunt  all  hut  Faz,  l. 

Faz,  Now,  lofty  woman,  we  are  equal  now, 

And  I will  front  thee  in  thy  pitcli  of  pride. 

Enter  Aldabella,  l.  S/i*e  sj^eaks,  after  a salutation  on 
each  side. 

Aid,  (c.)  Oh,  thou  and  I,  Sir,  when  we  met  of  old, 

W ere  not  so  distant,  nor  so  chill.  My  lord — 

1 had  forgot,  my  lord  ! You  dawning  signiors 
Are  jealous  of  your  state  : you  great  philosophers 
Walk  not  on  earth ; and  we  poor  groveling  beings, 

If  we  would  win  your  eminent  regards, 

Must  meet  ye  the  air.  Oh  ! it  sits  well 
This  scorn,  it  looks  so  gi’ave  and  reverend. 

Faz,  (r.  c.)  Is  scorn,  in  lady  Aldabella^s  creed, 

So  monstrous  and  heretical  ? 

Aid,  Again, 

Treason  again,  a most  irreverent  laugh, 

A traitorous  jest  before  so  learn’d  a sage  ! 

But  I may  joy  in  thy  good  fortue,  Fazio. 

Faz,  In  sooth,  good  fortune,  if  his  worth  the  joy, 

The  haughty  Lady  Aid  ab  ell  a’ s joy  ! 

Aid,  Nay,  an  thou  hadst  not  dash’d  so  careless  off 
My  bounteous  offering,  I had  said — 

Faz,  What,  lady  ? 

Aid,  Oh,  naught — mere  sound — mere  air  ! — Thoii  ’it 
married,  Fazio : 

And  is  thy  bride  a jewel  of  the  first  water  ? 

I know  thou  wilt  say,  ay ; ’tis  an  old  tale, 

Thy  fond  lip-revel  on  a lady’s  beauties  : 

Methinks  I’ve  heard  thee  descant  upon  loveliness. 

Till  the  full  ears  were  drunken  with  sweet  sounds. 


4jC£RE  II.J 


FAZIO. 


25 


But  never  let  me  see  her,  Fazio  : never ! 

Faz,  And  w^hy  not,  lady  ? She  is  exquisite— 
Bashfully,  humbly  exquisite  ; yet  Florence 
May  be  as  proud  of  her,  as  of  the  richest 
That  fire  her  with  the  lustre  of  their  state. 

A nd  why  not,  lady  ? 

Aid,  Why  ! I know  not  why  ! 

Oh,  your  philosophy  ! ’tis  ever  curious. 

Poor  lady  Nature  must  tell  all,  and  clearly, 

To  its  inquisitorship.  We  ’ll  not  think  on  ’t : 

It  fell  from  me  unawares  ; words  will  start  forth 
When  the  mind  wanders. — Oh  no,  not  because 
She’s  merely  lovely  : — but  we’ll  think  no  more  on’t.  — 
Didst  hear  the  act  ] 

Faz,  Lady,  what  act  ? 

Aid,  The  act 

Of  the  great  Duke  of  Florence  and  his  Senate, 

Entitled  against  turtle  doves  in  poesy. 

Henceforth  that  useful  bird  is  interdict. 

As  the  mild  emblem  of  true  constancy. 

There’s  a new  word  found  ; ’tis  pure  Tuscan  too  ; 

Fazio's  to  fill  the  blank  up,  if  it  chime  ; 

If  not,  Heaven  help  the  rhymester. 

Faz,  ( Ajpart,)  With  what  an  airy  and  a sparkling  grace 
The  language  glances  from  her  silken  lips  ! 

Her  once-loved  voice  how  exquisite  it  sounds, 

E’en  like  a gentle  music  heard  in  childhood  ! 

‘ Aid,  Why  yes,  my  lord,  in  these  degenerate  days 

Constancy  is  so  rare  a virtue,  angels 

Come  down  to  gaze  on’t : it  makes  the  world  proud. 

Who  would  be  one  o’  the  many  % Why,  our  Florence 
Will  blaze  with  the  miracle.  ’Tis  true,  ’tis  true  : 

The  odour  of  the  rose  grows  faint  and  sickly, 

And  joys  are  finest  by  comparison. — 

But  what  is  that  to  the  majestic  pride 
jf  being  the  sole  true  phoenix  ^ 

Faz,  Gentle  lady. 

Thou  speak’st  as  if  that  smooth  word  constancy 
Were  harsh  and  brassy  sounding  in  thy  ears.  ^ 

Aid,  No,  no,  signior  ; your  good  old-fangled  virtues 
Save  gloss  enough  for  me,  had  it  been  my  lot 


26 


FAZIO. 


Act  II 


To  be  a miser’s  treasure  : if  his  eyes 
Ne’er  open’d  but  on  me,  I ne’er  had  wept 
At  such  a pleasant  faithful  avarice. 

Faz,  Lady,  there  was  a time  when  I did  dream 
Of  playing  the  miser  to  another  treasure, 

One  not  less  precious  than  thy  stately  self. 

Aid.  Oh  yes,  my  lord,  oh  yes  ; the  tale  did  run 
That  thou  and  I did  love  : so  ran  the  tale. 

That  thou  and  I showld  have  been  wed — the  tale 
Ran  so,  my  lord — Oh  memory,  memory,  memory  ! 

It  is  a bitter  pleasure,  but  ’tis  pleasure. 

Faz.  A pleasure,  lady ! — why  then  cast  me  off 
Like  an  indifferent  weed  1 — with  icy  scorn 
Why  choke  the  blossom  tliat  but  woo’d  thy  sunshine  ? 

Aid.  Ah,  wdiat  an  easy  robe  is  scorn  to  wear ! ^ 

’Tis  but  to  wrinkle  up  the  level  brow. 

To  arch  the  pliant  eye-lash,  and  freeze  up 
The  passionless  and  placid  orb  within — 

Castelli ! oh  Castelli ! 

Faz.  Who  was  he,  lady  ? 

Aid.  One,  my  good  lord,  I loved  most  fondly,  fatally. 

Faz.  Then  thou  didst  love  1 love,  Aldabella,  truly, 
Fervently,  fondly  1 — But  what’s  that  to  me  ? 

Aid.  Oh  yes,  my  lord,  he  was  a noble  gentleman  ; 
Thou  know’st  him  by  his  title,  Conde  d’Orsoa  ; 

My  nearest  kinsman,  my  good  uncle  : — I, 

Knowing  our  passionate  and  fanciful  nature, 

To  his  sage  counsels  fetter’d  my  wild  will. 

Proud  was  he  of  me,  deem’d  me  a fit  mate 
For  highest  princes  ; and  his  honest  flatteries 
So  pamper’d  me,  the  fatal  duteousness 
So  grew  upon  me — Fazio,  dost  thou  think 
My  colo'ur  wither’d  since  we  parted  % Gleam 
Mine  eyes  as  they  were  wont  ] — Or  doth  the  outside 
Still  wear  a lying  smooth  indifference, 

While  the  unseen  heart  is  haggard  wan  wuth  woe  ? 

Faz.  Is’t  possible  And  didst  thou  love  me,  lady  ] 
Though  it  be  joy  vain  and  unprofitable 
As  is  the  sunshine  to  a dead  man’s  eyes, 

Pleasureless  from  his  impotence  of  pleasure  ; 

Tell  me  and  trulv — 


Scene  II.] 


FAZIO. 


27 


AM,  My  grave  sir  confessor, 

On  with  thy  hood  and  cowl. — So  thou  wouldst  hear 
Of  pining  days  and  discontented  nights  ; 

Ah  me’s  and  doleful  airs  to  my  sad  lute. 

Fazio,  they  suffer  most  who  utter  least. — 

Heaven,  wnat  a babbling  traitor  is  the  tongue  ! — 

Would  not  the  air  freeze  up  such  sinful  sound  ] — 

I Oh  no,  thou  heard’stit  not.  Ah  me  ! and  thou, 

I know,  wilt  surfeit  the  coarse  common  ear 
1 With  the  proud  Aldabella’s  fall. — Betray  me  not ; 

I Be  charier  of  her  shame  than  Aldabella.  ee 

I [Fazio  falls  on  his  knees  to  her. 

I My  lord  ! my  lord  ! ’tis  public  here — no  more — 

I’m  staid  for  at  my  jialace  by  the  Arno, 
j Farewell,  my  lord,  farewell ! — Betray  me  not : — 

I But  never  let  me  see  her^  Fazio,  never.  \Etxit^  l. 

I Faz.  (solus.)  Love  me  i — to  suffering  love  me! — why, 
' her  love 

[Might  draw  a brazen  statue  from  its  pedestal, 

Afid  make  its  yellow  veins  leap  up  with  life. 

Fair  Chastity,  thou  hast  two  juggling  fiends 
[Caballing  for  thy  jewel : one  within, 

And  that’s  a soft  and  melting  devil,  Love ; 

Th’  other  without,  and  that’s  a fair  rich  gentleman, 

IG-iraldi  Fazio:  they’re  knit  in  a league. 

And  thou,  thou  snowy  and  unsociable  virtue, 

May’st  lose  no  less  a votaress  from  thy  nunnery 
‘Than  the  most  beautiful  proud  Aldabella. 

Had  I been  honest,  ’twere  indeed  to  fall ; 

But  now  ’tis  but  a step  down  the  declivity. 

[Bianca  I but  Bianca  ! — bear  me  up. 

Bear  me  up,  in  the  trammels  of  thy  fondness 
Bind  thou  my  slippery  soul.  Wrong  thee,  Bianca  ? 

Nay,  nay,  that’s  deep  indeed  ; fathomless  deep 
■ In  the  black  pit  of  infamy  and  sin  : 

1 am  not  so  weary  yet  of  the  upper  air. 

Wrong  tliee,  Bianca  ! No,  not  for  the  earth  ; 

Not  for  earth’s  brightest,  not  for  Aldabella. 


Exnty  R, 


FAZIO. 


[Act  II. 


Scene  III. — JPalace  of  Fazio. 

Fnter  Fazio  and  Bianca,  r. 

Faz.  (l.  c.)  Dost  tliou  love  me,  Bianca! 

Fian.  (r.  c.)  There’s  a question 
For  a philosopher ! — Why,  I’ve  answer’d  it 
For  two  long  years ; and,  oh,  for  many  more. 

It  will  not  stick  upon  my  lips  to  answer  thee. 

Faz.  Thou’rt  in  the  fashion,  then.  The  court,  Bianca, 
The  ladies  of  the  court,  find  me  a fair  gentleman ; 

Ay,  and  a dangerous  wit  too,  that  smites  smartly. 

Bian.  And  thou  believest  it  all  1 
Faz.  Why,  if  the  gallants. 

The  lordly  and  frank  spirits  of  the  time. 

Troop  around  thee  with  gay  rhymes  on  thy  beauties. 
Tinkling  their  smooth  and  amorous  flatteries, 

Shalt  thou  be  then  a solemn  infidel  1 

Bian.  I shall  not  heed  them  ; my  poor  beauty  needs  < 
Only  one  flatterer.  i 

Faz.  Ay,  but  they’ll  press  on  thee,  ,« 

And  force  their  music  into  thy  deaf  ears. 

Think  ye,  ye  should  be  coy,  and  calm,  and  cold  ? ' j 

Bian.  Oh,  no  1 — I fear  me  a discourteous  laugh  ^ 

Might  be  their  guerdon  for  their  lavish  lying.  ] 

Faz.  But  if  one  trip  upon  your  lip,  or  wind 
Your  fingers  in  his  sportive  hand,  think  ye  i 

Ye  could  endure  it  % \ 

Bian.  Fazio,  thou  wrong’st  me  ^ 

With  such  dishonest  questionings.  My  lord,  \ 

There’s  such  an  awe  in  virtue,  it  can  make  ) 

The  anger  of  a sleek  smooth  brow  like  mine  ^ 

Strike  the  hot  libertine  to  dust  before  me.  j 

He’d  dare  to  dally  with  a fire  in  his  hand,  S' 

Kiss  rugged  briars  with  his  unholy  lips, 

Ere  with  his  rash  assault  attaint  my  honour.  ; 

Faz.  But  if  ye  see  me  by  a noble  lady. 

Whispering  as  though  she  were  my  shrine  whereon 
I lay  my  odorous  incense,  and  her  beauty 
Grow  riper,  richer  at  my  cherishing  praise  ; 

If  she  lean  on  me  with  a fond  round  arm,  ' 


Scene  III.] 


FAZIO. 


29 


If  he{  eye  drink  the  light  from  out  mine  eyes, 

And  if  her  lips  drop  sounds  for  my  ear  only ; 

Thoudt  arch  thy  moody  brow,  look  at  me  gravely, 

With  a pale  anger  on  thy  silenf  cheek. 

’Tis  out  of  keeping,  his  not  the  court  fashion — 

We  must  forego  this  clinging  and  this  clasping ; 

Be  cold,  and  strange,  and  courteous  to  each  other ; 

And  say,  How  doth  my  lord  V’  “ How  slept  my  lady 
As  though  we  dwelt  at  opposite  ends  o’  the  city. 

Bicm.  What  hath  distemper’d  thee  ? — This  is  unnatural ; 
Thou  could’st  not  talk  thus  in  thy  stedfast  senses. 

Fazio,  thou  hast  seen  Aldabella ! 

Faz.  Well, 

She  is  no  basilisk — there’s  no  death  in  her  eyes. 

Bian.  Ay,  Fazio,  but  there  is  ; and  more  than  death — 
A death  beyond  the  grave — a death  of  sin — 

[A  howling,  hideous,  and  eternal  death — 

peath  the  flesh  shrinks  from. No,  thou  must  not  see 

her ! 

Nay,  I’m  imperative — thou’rt  mine,  and  shalt  not. 

Faz,  Shalt  not !— Dost  think  me  a thick-blooded  slave, 
(Fo  say  Amen”  unto  thy  positive  shalt  not 
|rhe  hand  upon  a dial,  only  to  point 
flust  as  your  humourous  ladyship  choose  to  shine ! 
j Bian,  F azio,  thou  sett’st  a fever  in  my  brain  ; 
jVIy  very  lips  burn,  Fazio,  at  the  thought ; * 
had  rather  thou  wert  in  thy  winding-sheet 
iFhan  that  bad  woman’s  arms  ; I had  rather  grave-worms 
Were  on  thy  lips  than  that  bad  woman’s  kisses. 

Faz.  Howbeit,  there  is  no  blistering  in  their  taste  : 
iFhere  is  no  suflbcation  in  those  arms. 

^ Bian,  Take  heed  ! we  are  passionate ; our  milk  of  love 
Doth  turn  to  wormwood,  and  that’s  bitter  drinking. 
iFhe  fondest  are  most  phrenetic  : where  the  fire 
Burnetii  intensest,  there  the  inmate  pale 
Doth  dread  the  broad  and  beaconing  conflagration. 

-f  that  ye  cast  us  to  the  winds,  the  winds 
Will  give  us  their  unruly  restless  nature ; 

We  whirl  and  whirl ; and  where  we  settle,  Fazio, 

But  he  that  ruleth  the  mad  winds  can  know. 
f ye  do  drive  the  love  out  of  my  soul. 


30 


[Act  11. 


That  is  its  motion,  being,  and  its  life. 

There’ll  be  a conflict  strange  and  horrilde, 

Among  all  fearful  and  ill- visioned  fiends, 

For  the  blank  void ; and  their  mad  revel  there 
Will  make  me — oh,  I know  not  what — hate  thee ! — 

Oh,  no  !— I could  not  hate  thee,  Fazio  : 

Nay,  nay,  my  Fazio,  ’tis  not  come  to  that ; 

Mine  arms,  mine  arms,  shall  say  the  next  shall  not;” 

I’ll  never  startle  more  thy  peevish  ears, 

But  I’ll  speak  to  thee  with  my  positive  lips. 

[Kissing  and  clinging  to  him, 
Faz.  Oh,  what  a wild  and  wayward  child  am  I ! — 

Like  the  hungry  fool,  that  in  his  moody  fit 
Dash’d  from  his  lips  his  last  delicious  morsel. 

I’ll  see  her  once,  Bianca,  and  but  once  ; 

And  then  a rich  and  breathing  tale  I’ll  tell  her 
Ofl  our  full  happiness.  If  she  be  angel, 

’Twill  be  a gleam  of  Paradise  to  her. 

And  she’ll  smile  at  it  one  of  those  soft  smiles. 

That  make  the  air  seem  sunny,  blithe  and  balmy. 

If  she  be  devil Nay,  but  that’s  too  ugly  ; 

The  fancy  doth  rebel  at  it,  and  shrink 
As  from  a serpent  in  a knot  of  flowers. 

Devil  and  Aldabella  ! — Fie  ! — -They  sound 
Like  nightingales  and  screech-owls  heard  together. 

What ! must  I still  have  tears  to  kiss  away  ] — 

I will  return — Good  night ! — It  is  but  once. 

See,  thou’st  the  taste  o’  my  lips  now  at  our  parting ; 

And  when  we  meet  again,  if  they  be  tainted. 

Thou  shalt — oh  no,  thou  shalt  not,  canst  not  hate  me. 

[Exeunt, 

Scene  IV. — Palace  of  Aldahella, 

Enter  Aldabella,  l. 

Aid,  My  dainty  bird  doth  hover  round  the  lure. 

And  I must  hood  him  with  a skilful  hand  : 

Rich  and  renown’d,  he  must  be  in  my  train. 

Or  Florence  will  turn  rebel  to  my  beauty. 

Enter  Clara,  Fazio  behind,  r.  u.  e. 

Oh,  Clara,  have  you  been  to  the  Ursulines  ? 


Scene  IV.] 


FAZIO. 


31 


\Vliat  says  my  cousin,  the  kind  Lady  Abbess  ? 

Cla,  (r.)  She  says,  my  lady,  that  to-morrow  roon 
Noviciates  are  admitted;  but  she  wonders. 

My  Lady  Abbess  wonders,  and  I too 
V/onder,  my  lady,  what  can  make  ye  fancy 
Those  damp  and  dingy  cloisters.  Oh,  my  lady  ! 

They’ll  make  you  cut  off  all  this  fine  dark  hair — 

Why,  all  the  signiors  in  the  court  would  quarrel, 

And  cut  each  other’s  throats  for  a loose  hair  of  it. 

Aid,  Ah  me  ! what  heeds  it  wliere  I linger  out 
The  remnant  of  my  dark  and  despised  life  ? — 

Clara,  thou  weariest  me. 

Cla.  Oh,  but,  my  lady, 

I saw  their  dress  : it  was  so  coarse  and  hard-grain’d, 

I’m  sure  ’t would  fret  your  ladyship’s  soft  skin 

Like  thorns  and  brambles ; and  besides,  the  make  on’t  i — 

A vine-dresser’s  wife  at  market  looks  more  dainty. 

Aid,  Then  my  tears  will  not  stain  it.  Oh,  ’tis  rich 
enough 

For  lean  and  haggard  sorrow,  f Ajypearing  to  perceiy^ 
Fazio,  exit  Clara,  l.)  Oh,  my  lord  ! 

You’re  timely  come  to  take  a long  farewell. 

Our  convent  gates  are  rude,  and  black,  and  ^iose  : 

Our  Ursuline  veils  of  such  a jealous  woof, 

There  must  be  piercing  in  those  curious  eyes. 

Would  know  if  the  skin  beneath  be  swarth  or  snowy. 

Faz,  (r.  c.)  a convent  for  the  brilliant  Aldabella  % 

The  mirror  of  all  rival  loveliness, 

The  harp  to  which  all  gay  thoughts  lightly  dance. 

Mew’d  in  the  drowsy  silence  of  a cloister  ! 

Aid,  (l.  c.)  Oh,  what  regards  it,  if  a blind  man  lie 
On  a green  lawn  or  on  a steamy  moor  ! 

What  heeds  it  to  the  dead  and  wither’d  heart. 

Whose  faculty  of  rapture  is  grown  sere. 

Hath  lost  distinction  between  foul  and  fair, 

Whether  it  house  in  gorgeous  palaces. 

Or  mid  wan  graves  and  dismal  signs  of  care  ! 

Oh,  there’s  a grief,  so  with  the  threads  of  being 
Ravelled  and  twined,  it  sickens  every  sense  : 

Then  is  the  swinging  and  monotonous  bell 
Musical  as  the  rich  harp  heai  d by  moonlight ; 


32 


FAZTO. 


[Act  II 


Then  are  the  limbs  insensible  if  they  rest 
On  the  coarse  pallet  or  the  pulpy  down. 

Faz,  What  mean  ye,  lady  1 — thou  bewilder’st  me. 
What  grief  so  wanton  and  luxurious 
Would  choose  the  lady  Aldabella’s  bosom 
To  pillow  on  ] > 

Aid,  Oh,  my  lord,  untold  love — — 

Nay,  Fazio,  gaze  not  on  me  so  : my  tongue 
Can  scarcely  move  for  the  fire  within  my  cheeks — 

It  cankereth,  it  consumeth,  untold  love. 

But  if  it  burst  its  secret  prison-house. 

And  venture  on  the  broad  and  public  air. 

It  leagueth  with  a busy  fiend  call’d  Shame  ; — 

And  they  both  dog  their  game,  till  Misery 
Fastens  upon  it  with  a viper’s  fang. 

And  rings  its  being  with  its  venomous  coil. 

Faz,  Misery  and  thee  ! — oh,  ’tis  unnatural ! — 

Oh,  yoke  thee  to  that  thing  of  darkness,  misery  ! — 

Ihat  Ethiop,  that  grim  Moor  ! — it  were  to  couple 
The  dove  and  kite  within  one  loving  leash. 

It  must  not  be  ; nay,  ye  must  be  divorced. 

Aid,  Ah  no,  my  lord  ! we  are  too  deeply  pledg’d. 

Dost  thou  remember  our  old  poet’s*  legend  ^ 

Over  Hell  gates — “ Hope  comes  not  here  V Where  hope 
Comes  not,  is  hell ; and  what  have  I to  hope  ] 

Faz,  What  hast  to  hope  ? — Thou’rt  strangely  beautiful. 
Aid,  M^ould  st  thou  leave  flattery  thy  last  ravishing 
sound 

Upon  mine  ears  ?— ’Tis  kind,  ’tis  fatally  kind. 

Faz,  Oh,  no  ! we  must  not  part,  we  must  not  part. 

I came  to  tell  thee  something  : what,  1 know  not. 

I only  know  one  word  that  should  have  been  ; 

And  that Oh ! if  thy  skin  were  seam’d  with  wrinkles, 

If  on  thy  cheek  sat  sallow  hollowness, 

If  thy  warm  voice  spake  shrieking,  harsh,  and  shrill; 

But  to  that  breathing  form,  those  ripe  round  lips, 

Like  a full  parted  cherry,  those  dark  eyes. 

Rich  in  such  dewy  languors I’ll  not  say  it 

Nay,  nay,  ’tis  on  me  now ! — Poison’s  at  work  ! 

Now  listen  to  me,  lady We  must  love. 


• Dante » 


ICiJKE  IV.] 


FAZIO. 


33 


Aid.  Love  ! — Ay,  my  lord,  as  far  as  honesty. 

Faz-.  Honesty  ! — ’Tis  a stale  and  musty  phrase  ; 
it  least  at  coart : and  why  should  we  be  traitors 
"o  the  strong  tyrant  Custom  1 
Aid.  My  lord  Fazio — 

^h,  said  I my  lord  Fazio  % — thou'lt  betray  me  : 

'he  bride — the  wife — she  that  I mean — My  lord, 

am  nor  splenetic  nor  envious  ; 

ut  ’ti§  a name  I dare  not  trust  my  lips  with. 

Faz.  Bianca,  oh,  Bianca  is  her  name ; 
he  mild  Bianca,  the  soft  fond  Bianca, 
h,  to  that  name,  e’en  in  the  Church  of  God, 
pledged  a solemn  faith. 

Aid.  Within  that  Church, 
arren  and  solitary  my  sad  name 
lall  sound,  when  the  pale  nun  professM  doth  wed 
bat  her  cold  bridegroom  Solitude  : and  yet — 
er  right — ere  she  had  seen  you,  we  had  lov’d. 

Faz.  {Franticly,  c.)  Why  should  we  dash  the  goblet 
from  our  lips, 

3cause  the  dregs  may  have  a smack  of  bitter  ? 
hy  should  that  pale  and  clinging  consequence 
irust  itself  ever  ’twixt  us  and  our  joys  ? 

Aid.  ( R.  c. ) My  lord,  ’tis  well  our  convent  walls  are 
high, 

id  our  gates  massy  ; else  ye  raging  tigers 
ght  rush  upon  us  simple  maids  unveil’d. 

Faz.  A veil ! a veil ! why,  Florence  will  be  dark 
noon-day  : or  thy  beauty  will  fire  up, 

■ the  contagion  of  its  own  bright  lustre, 
e dull  dead -flax  to  so  intense  a brilliance, 
will  look  like  one  of  those  rich  purple  clouds 
the  pavilion  of  the  setting  sun. 

Aid.  My  lord,  I’ve  a poor  banquet  here  within  ; 
ill’t  please  you  taste  it  ? 

Faz.  Ay,  wine,  wine  ! ay,  wine  ! 
drown  thee,  tnou  officious  preacher,  here ! iClasmns 
his  fore/iead. ) 

! [Exeunt,  b. 


END  OF  ACT  II. 


34 


FAZIO. 


^Act  III 


ACT  III. 

Scene  I. — 'Palace  <?/* Fazio. 

Enter  Bianca,  l. 

Bian,  {c,  ) Not  all  the  night,  not  all  the  long,  long  nighty . 
Not  come  to  me  ! not  send  to  me  ! not  think  on  me  ! 

Like  an  unrighteous  and  unburied  ghost,  * 

I wander  up  and  down  these  long  arcades. 

Oh,  in  our  old  poor  narrow  home,  if  haply 
He  lingered  late  abroad,  domestic  things 
Close  and  familiar  crowded  all  around  me  ; 

The  ticking  of  the  clock,  the  flapping  motion 
Of  the  green  lattice,  the  grey  curtain’s  folds. 

The  hangings  of  the  bed  myself  had  wrought. 

Yea,  e’en  his  black  and  iron  crucibles, 

Were  to  me  as  my  friends.  But  here,  oh  here,  - 

Where  all  is  coldly,  comfortlessly  costly, 

All  strange,  all  new  in  uncouth  gorgeousness, 

Lofty  and  long,  a wider  space  for  misery — ^ ! 

E’en  my  own  footsteps  on  these  marble  floors  ] 

Are  unaccustom’d,  unfamiliar  sounds. — i 

Oh,  I am  here  so  wearily  miserable,  t 

That  I should  welcome  my  apostate  Fazio,  i 

Though  he  were  fresh  from  Aldabella’s  arms. 

Her  arms  ! — ^lier  viper  coil ! — I had  forsworn  i 

That  thought,  lest  he  should  come  again  and  find  me  mad,  ’ 
And  so  go  back  again,  and  I not  know  it.  I 

Oh  that  I were  a child  to  play  with  toys,  ^ I 

Fix  my  whole  soul  upon  a cup  and  ball—  1 

Oh,  any  pitiful  poor  subterfuge,  j 

A moment  to  distract  my  busy  spirit 
From  its  dark  dalliance  with  that  cursed  image  ! 

I have  tried  all : all  vainly — Now,  but  now 
I went  in  to  my  children.*  The  first  sounds 
They  murmur’d  in  their  evil-dreaming  sleep 
Was  a faint  mimicry  of  the  name  of  father. 

I could  not  kiss  them,  my  lips  were  so  hot. 

The  very  household  slaves  are  leagued  against  me, 


ScBIfE  I.] 


FAZIO. 


35 


And  do  beset  me  with  their  wicked  floutings, 

‘‘  Comes  my  lord  home  to  night !” — and  when  I say, 

I know  not/'  their  coarse  pity  makes  my  heart-strings 
Throb  with  the  agony. — 

Piero,  r. 

Well,  what  of  my  lord  ? 

Nay,  tell  it  with  thy  lips,  not  with  thy  visage. 

Thou  raven,  croak  it  out  if  it  be  evil : 

If  it  be  good.  I'll  fall  and  worship  thee  ; 

’Tis  the  office  and  the  ministry  of  gods 
To  speak  good  tidings  to  distracted  spirits. 

Piero.  Last  night  my  lord  did  feast — 

Bian.  Speak  it  at  once — 

Where  ? where  ? — I'll  wring  it  from  thy  lips. — Where  I 
where  1 

Pier.  Lady,  at  the  Marchesa  Aldabella’s. 

Bian.  Thou  best,  false  slave  ! 'twas  at  the  Ducal  Palace, 
'Twas  at  the  arsenal  with  the  officers  ; 

’Twas  with  the  old  rich  senator — ^him — him — him — 

The  man  with  a brief  name  ; 'twas  gaming,  dicing, 
Riotously  drinking. — Oh,  it  was  not  there  ; 

'Twas  any  where  but  there — or  if  it  was, 

W hy  like  a sly  and  creeping  adder  sting  me 

With  thy  black  tidings  ? — Nay,  nay  ; good,  my  friend ; 

Here’s  money  for  those  harsh  intemperate  words. — 

But  he’s  not  there  ; ’tWas  some  one  of  the  gallants, 

With  dress  and  stature  like  my  Fazio. 

Thou  v/ert  mistaken  : — no,  no  ; 'twas  not  Fazio. 

Piero.  It  grieves  me  much  ; but,  lady,  ’tis  my  fear 
Thou'lt  find  it  but  too  true. 

Bian.  Hence  ! hence  ! — Avaunt, 

With  thy  cold  courteous  face  ! Thou  seest  I’m  wretched 
Doth  it  content  thee  1 Gaze — gaze — gaze  ! — perchance 
Ye  would  behold  the  bare  and  bleeding  heart, 

With  all  its  throbs,  its  agonies. — O Fazio  ! 

O Fazio  1 Is  her  smile  more  sweet  than  mine  ! 

Or  her  soul  fonder  % — Fazio,  my  lord  Fazio  I 
Before  the  face  of  man,  mine  own,  mine  only ; 

Before  the  face  of  Heaven  Bianca’s  Fazio, 

Not  Aldabella’s. — Ah  that  I should  live 


36 


FAZIO. 


[Act  III 


To  question  it ! — Now  henceforth  all  our  joys, 

Our  delicate  endearments,  all  are  poisoif  i 
Ay ! if  he  speak  my  name  with  his  fond  voice, 

It  will  be  with  the  same  tone  that  to  her 
He  murmured  hers  it  will  be,  or  ^twill  seem  so. 

If  he  embrace  me,  ^twill  be  with  those  arms 
In  which  he  folded  her : and  if  he  kiss  me, 

He’ll  pause,  and  think  which  of  the  two  is  sweeter. 

Piero,  Nay,  good  my  lady,  give  not  entertainment 
To  such  sick  fancies  : think  on  lighter  matters. 

I heard  strange  news  abroad  ; the  Duke’s  in  council, 
Debating  on  the  death  of  old  Bartolo, 

The  grey  lean  usurer.  He’s  been  long  abroad, 

And  died,  they  think. 

Bian,  Well,  sir,  and  what  of  that? 

And  have  I not  the  privilege  of  sorrow, 

Without  a menial’s  staring  eye  upon  me  ? 

Who  sent  thee  thus  to  charter  my  free  thoughts. 

And  tell  them  where  to  shrink,  and  where  to  pause  ? 
Officious  slave,  away  ! — ( Exit,) — Ha  ! what  saidst  thou  ? 
Bartolo’s  death  ! and  the  Duke  in  his  council  ! — 

I’ll  rend  him  from  her,  though  she  wind  around  him. 

Like  the  vine  round  the  elm.  I’ll  pluck  him  off. 

Though  the  life  crack  at  parting. — No,  no  pause  ; 

For  if  there  be,  I shall  be  tame  and  timorous  : 

That  milk-faced  mercy  will  come  whimpering  to  me. 

And  I shall  sit  and  meekly,  miserably* 

Weep  o’er  my  wrongs. — Ha  ! that  her  soul  were  fond 
And  fervent  as  mine  own  ! I would  give  worlds 
To  see  her  as  he’s  rent  and  torn  from  her. 

Oh,  but  she’s  cold  ; she  cannot,  will  not  feel. 

It  is  but  half  revenge — her  whole  of  sorrow 
Will  be  a drop  to  my  consummate  agony. — 

Away,  away  : oh,  had  I wings  to  waft  me  ! [Exity  r. 

Scene  H. — Council  Ghamher, 

The  Duke  and  his  council  discovered, 

Duke,  (c.)  ’Tis  passing  strange,  a man  of  such  lean  habits, 
Wealth  flowing  to  him  in  a steady  current, 

Winds  wafting  it  unto  him  from  all  quarters, 


Scene  II.J 


FAZIO. 


37 


Through  all  his  seventy  toilsome  years  of  life, 

And  yet  his  treasury  so  spare  and  meagre. 

Signior  Gonsalvo,  were  the  voice  that  told  us 
Less  tried  and  trusty  than  thine  own,  our  faith 
W ould  be  a rebel  to  such  marvellous  fact. 

Gon,  (r.  c.)^  Well  may  your  Highness  misdoubt  me, 
myself 

Almost  misdoubting  mine  own  positive  senses. 

No  sign  was  there  of  outward  violence, 

All  in  a state  of  orderly  misery, 

No  trace  of  secret  inroad  ; yet,  my  liege, 

Ihe  mountains  of  his  wealth  were  puny  molehills, 

A.  few  stray  ducats  ; piles  indeed  of  parchments. 
Mortgages,  deeds,  and  lawsuits  heaped  to  the  roof, 
lEnough  to  serve  the  armies  of  all  Tuscany 
At  least  for  half  a century  with  new  drumheads. 

Aurio.  (l.  c.)  Haply,  my  liege,  he  may  have  gone  abroad, 
And  borne  his  riches  with  him. 

Duke.  Signior  Aurio, 

rhat  surmise  flavours  not  of  your  known  wisdom. 

Tis  argosies  encumber  all  our  ports, 

|Tis  unsold  bales  rot  on  the  crowded  wharfs ; 

The  interest  of  a hundred  usuries 
pieth  unclaim’d. — Besides,  he  hath  not  left 
)ur  city  for  this  twenty  years  : — a flight 
|)0  unprepared  and  wanton  suits  not  welT 
four  slow  and  heavy-laden  usurer. 

f Enter  Antonio,  r. 

j Anto.  My  liege,  a lady  in  the  antechamber 

j)oasts  knowledge  that  concerns  your  this  day’s  council. 

! Duke.  Admit  her. 

Enter  Bianca,  r. 

low  ! what  know’st  thou  of  the  death 
f old  Bartolo  ] — be  he  dead,  in  sooth  1 
>r  of  his  riches  'I 

Bian.  The  east  side  o’  the  fountain, 

'i  the  small  garden  of  a lowly  nouse 
y the  Franciscan  convent,  the  green  herbs 
row  boon  and  freely,  the  manure  is  rich 
round  their  roots  : dig  there,  and  you’ll  be  wiser. 

D 


38 


FAZIO. 


"Act  III 


Duke.  Who  tenanted  this  house  ] 

Bian.  Giraldi  F azio. 

Duke.  What  of  his  wealth  ] 

Bian.  There^s  one  in  Florence  knows 
More  secrets  than  beseems  an  honest  man. 

Duke.  And  who  is  he  ? 

Bian.  Giraldi  Fazio. 

Gon.  My  liege,  I know  him  : ’tis  the  new  sprung 
signior, 

This  great  philosopher.  I ever  doubted 
His  vaunted  manufactory  of  gold, 

Work’d  by  some  strange  machinery. 

Duke.  Theodore, 

Search  thou  the  garden  that  this  woman  speaks  of. 
Captain  Antonio,  be’t  thy  charge  to  attach 
With  speed  the  person  of  this  Fazio. 

Bia7t.  (RusJiingfoi'ward  to  Ant:o.)  You’ll  find  him 
the  Marchesa  Aldabella’s  ; 

Bring  him  away — no  mercy — no  delay — 

Nay,  not  an  instant — not  time  for  a kiss, 

A parting  kiss.  [Aside.)  Now  come  what  will. 

Their  curst  entwining  arms  are  riven  asunder. 

Duke.  And  thou,  thou  peremptory  summoner ! 

Most  thirsty  after  justice  ! speak  ! Thy  name  1 

Bian.  Bianca. 

Duke.  Thy  estate,  wedded  or  single  ? 

Bian.  My  lord 

Duke.  Give  instant  answer  to  the  court. 

Bian.  Oh,  wedded,  but  most  miserably  single. 

Duke.  Woman,  thou  palterest  with  our  dignity. 

Thy  husband’s  name  and  quality  % — Why  shakest  thou 
And  draw’st  the  veil  along  thy  moody  brow. 

As  thou  too  wert  a murderess  1 — Speak,  and  quickly. 
Bian.  (Faltering.)  Giraldi  Fazio. 

Duke.  ’Tis  thy  husband,  then — 

Woman,  take  heed,  if,  petulant  and  rash, 

Thou  would’st  abuse  the  righteous  sword  of  law, 

That  brightest  in  the  armoury  of  man. 

To  a peevish  instrument  of  thy  light  passions. 

Or  furtherance  of  some  close  and  secret  guilt : 

Take  heed,  ’tis  in  the  heaven-stamp’d  roll  of  sins, 


Scene  II.] 


FAZIO. 


39 


To  bear  false  witness Oh,  but  ’gainst  thy  husband, 

Thy  bQsom’s  lord,  flesh  of  thy  flesh  ! — -To  set 
The  blood-hounds  of  the  law  upon  his  track ! 

If  thou  speak’st  true,  stern  justice  will  but  blush 
To  be  so  cheer’d  upon  her  guilty  prey* 

If  it  be  false,  thou  givest  to  flagrant  sin 
A heinous  immortality.  This  deed 
Will  chronicle  thee,  woman,  to  all  ages. 

In  human  guilt  a portent  and  an  era  : 

’Tis  of  those  crimes,  whose  eminent  fame  Hell  joys  at ; 
And  the  celestial  angels,  that  look  on  it. 

Wish  their  keen  airy  vision  dim  and  narrow. 

Enter  Theodore,  r. 

Theo,  My  liege,  e’eri  where  she  said,  an  unstripp’d 
corpse 

Lay  carelessly  inearth’d  ; old  weeds  hung  on  it. 

Like  those  that  old  Bartolo  wont  to  wear ; 

And  under  the  left  rib  a small  stiletto. 

Rusted  within  the  pale  and  creeping  flesh. 

Enter  Antonio  ivith  Fazio,  r.  ^ 

Ant.  My  liege,  the  prisoner. 

Duke,  (c.)  Thou’rt  Giraldi  Fazio. 

Giraldi  Fazio,  thou  stand’st  here  arraign’d. 

That,  with  presumption  impious  and  accurst. 

Thou  hast  usurp’d  God’s  high  prerogative, 

Making  thy  fellow  mortal’s  life  and  death 
Wait  on  thy  moody  and  diseased  passions  ; 

That  with  a violent  and  untimely  steel 

Hast  set  abroach  the  blood,  that  should  have  ebb’d 

In  calm  and  natural  current : to  sum  all 

In  one  wild  name — a name  the  pale  air  freezes  at, 

And  every  cheek  of  man  sinks  in  with  horror — 

Thou  art  a cold  and  midnight  murderer. 

Eaz.  (r.  c.)  My  liege,  I do  beseech  thee,  argue  not, 
From  the  thick  clogging  of  my  clammy  breath. 

Aught  but  a natural  and  instinctive  dread 
Of  such  a bloody  and  ill-sounding  title. 

My  liege  I do  beseech  thee,  whate’er  reptile 


40 


FAZIO. 


[Act  III 


Hath  cast  this  filthy  slime  of  slander  on  me, 

Set  him  before  me  face  to  face : the  fire 
Of  my  just  anger  shall  burn  up  his  heart, 

Make  his  lip  drop,  and  powerless  shuddering 
Creep  o’er  his  noisome  and  corrupted  limbs. 

Till  the  gross  lie  clioak  in  his  wretched  throat. 

Duke,  Thou’rt  bold. — But  know  ye  aught  of  old  Bartolo  I 
Methinks,  for  innocence,  thou’rt  pale  and  tremulous — 
That  name  is  to  thee  as  a thunderclap ; 

But  thou  shalt  have  thy  wish Woman,  stand  forth  : 

Nay,  cast  away  thy  veil. — —Look  on  her,  Fazio. 

Faz,  Bianca  ! — No,  it  is  a horrid  vision  ! 

And,  if  I struggle,  I shall  wake,  and  find  it 
A miscreated  mockery  of  the  brain. 

If  thou’rt  a fiend,  what  hellish  right  hast  thou 
To  shroud  thy  leprous  and  fire-seamed  visage 
In  lovely  lineaments,  like  my  Bianca’s'? 

If  thou’rt  indeed  Bianca,  thou  wilt  weai 
A ring  I gave  thee  at  our  wedding  time. 

In  God’s  name  do  I bid  thee  hold  it  up ; 

And,  if  thou  dost.  I’ll  be  a murderer, 

A slaughterer  of  whole  hecatombs  of  men, 

So  ye  wil?  rid  me  of  the  hideous  sight. 

Duke,  Giraldi  Fazio,  hear  the  court’s  award : 

First,  on  thy  evil-gotten  wealth  the  State 
Setteth  her  solemn  seal  of  confiscation ; 

And  for  thyself 

Bian,  ( Rushing  forward  to  c,)  Oh,  we’ll  be  poor  again. 
Oh,  I forgive  thee! — We’ll  be  poor  and  happy  I 
So  happy,  the  dull  day  shall  be  too  short  for  us. 

She  loved  thee,  that  proud  woman,  for  thy  riches ; 

But  thou  canst  tell  why  I love  Fazio. 

Duke,  And  for  thyself — ’Tis  in  the  code  of  Heaven, 
Blood  will  have  blood — the  slayer  for  the  slain. 

Death  is  thy  doom — the  public,  daylight  death : 

Thy  body  do  we  give  unto  the  wheel : 

The  Lord  have  mercy  on  thy  sinful  soul  1 

Bian,  Death  ! — Death  ! — I meant  not  that ! Ye 

mean  not  that  1 

What’s  all  this  waste  and  idle  talk  of  murther  t 
He  slay  a man — with  tender  hands  like  his  V — 


i^CEWE  II.] 


FAZIO. 


4 


With  delicate  iniid  soull- 

i,d:ad  startled  him  ! I’ve  seen  him  pale  and  shudderintr 

. O 


-Why,  his  own  blood 


i --  • - • « .inn  ana 

It  the  sad  writhings  of  a trampled  worm  • 

^ ve  seen  him  brush  off  with  a dainty  hand 
1 bee  that  stung  him. — Oh,  why  wear  ye  thus 
L ne  garb  and  outward  sanctity  of  law  ? 

|Vhat  means  that  snow  upon  your  reverend  brows, 
I that  ye  have  no  subtler  apprehension 
.1  f?'”®,  inherent  harmony  in  the  nature 
>i  bloody  criminal  and  bloody  crime  ? 
fwere  wise  t’  arraign  the  soft  and  silly  lamb 
Slaughtering  his  butcher  : ye  might  make  it 
.3  proper  a murderer  as  my  Fazio. 

Duke.  Woman,  th’  irrevocable  breath  of  justice 
y avers  not : he  must  die. 

Blan,  Die!  Fazio  die! 


e grey  and  solemn  murderers  by  charter! 
e ymined  manslayers ! when  the  tale  is  rife 
/ith  blood  and  guilt,  and  deep  and  damning,  oh. 
e suck  It  in  with  cold  insatiate  thirst : 
ut  to  the  plea  of  mercy  ye  are  stones, 
iS  deaf  and  hollovv  as  the  unbowell’d  winds, 
n,  ye  smooth  Christians  in  your  tones  and  looks 
at  in  your  heats  as  savage  as  the  tawny  ’ 

nd  misbelieving  Afi-ican  ! ye  profane, 
ho  say,  “God  bless  him!  God  deliver  him'” 
hile  ye  are  beckoning  for  the  bloody  axe, 

I unoffending  head  I— His  head  I 

y F azio’s  head  ! — the  head  this  bosom  cherished 
(itn  Its  first  virgin  fondness. 

Duke.  Fazio,  hear  ; 

l)-mOTrow’s  morning  sun  shall  dawn  upon  thee  : 
it  when  he  setteth  in  his  western  couch, 

1 finds  i*y  place  in  this  world  void  and  vacant, 

Bian.  To-morrow  morning  I— Not  to-morrow  rromin'r  ! 
e damning  devils  give  a forced  faint  pause,  ° 

i-he  bad  soul  but  feebly  catch  at  heaven, 
t ye,  but  ye,  unshriven,  unreconciled, 
ith  all  its  ponderous  mass  of  sins,  hurl  down 
e bare  and  shivering  spirit.— Oh,  not  to-morrow ! 

:fJuke.  Woman,  thou  dost  outstep  all  modesty : 


42 


FAZIO. 


/aCtIII 


But  for  strong  circumstance,  that  leagues  with  tnee, 

We  should  contemn  thee  for  a wild  mad  woman, 

Raving  her  wayward  and  unsettled  fancies. 

Bian.  Mad  ! mad  ! — ay,  that  it  is  ! ay,  that  it  is  ! 

Is’t  to  be  mad  to  speak,  to  move,  to  gaze. 

But  not  to  know  how,  or  why,  or  whence,  or  where  ? 

To  see  that  there  are  faces  all  around  me, 

Floating  within  a dim  discolour’d  haze, 

Yet  have  distinction,  vision  but  for  one  ] 

To  speak  wuth  rapid  and  continuous  flow, 

Yet  know  not  how  the  unthought  words  start  from  mo 
Oh,  I am  mad,  wildly,  intensely  mad. 

’Twas  but  last  night  the  moon  was  at  the  full ; 

And  ye,  and  ye,  the  sovereign  and  the  sage. 

The  wisdom  and  the  reverence  of  all  Florence, 

E’en  from  a maniac’s  dim  disjointed  tale. 

Do  calmly  judge  away  the  innocent  life. 

The  holy  human  life,  the  life  God  gave  him. 

Duke,  (c.)  Giraldi  Fazio,  hast  thou  aught  to  plead 
Against  the  law,  that  with  imperious  hand 
Grasps  at  thy  forfeit  life  ] j 

Faz.  (r.  c.)  My  liege,  this  soul 
Rebels  not,  nay,  repines  not  at  thy  sentence  ; . 

Yet,  oh!  by  all  on  earth,  by  all  hereafter,  ^ 

All  that  hath  cognizance  o’er  unseen  deeds,  v 

Blood  is  a colour  stranger  to  these  hands. 

But  there  are  crimes  within  me,  deep  and  black,  * 

That  with  their  clamorous  and  tumultuous  voices 
Shout  at  me,  Thou  should’st  die,  thy  sins  are  deadly  j 

Nor  dare  my  oppressed  heart  return,  ‘‘  ’Tis  false.”  ^ 

Bian.  (l.  c.)  But  I,  I say,  ’tis  false  : he  is  not  guilty  : i 
Not  guilty  unto  death  : I say  he  is  not.  I 

God  gave  ye  hearing,  but  ye  will  not  hear;  i 

God  gave  ye  feeling,  but  ye  will  not  feel ; 1 

God  gave  ye  judgment,  but  ye  falsely  judge.  ' 

Duke.  Captain  Antonio,  guard  thy  prisoner. 

[f  it  be  true,  blood  is  not  on  thy  soul. 

Yet  thou  objectest  not  to  the  charge  of  robbery  ] 

[FA7..0  hows. 

Thou  dost  not.  Robbery,  by  the  the  laws  of  FI  jrence, 

Is  sternly  coded  as  a deadly  crime  : 


Scs:^:E  II.] 


FAZIO. 


43 


Therefore,  I say  again,  Giraldi  Fazio, 

The  Lord  have"  mercy  on  thy  sinful  soul  ! 

\T/iey  follow  the  Duke. 
Bian,  [Seizing  and  detaining  Aurio.) 

My  lord ! my  lord  ! we  have  two  babes  at  home — 

They  cannot  speak  yet ; but  your  name,  my  lord. 

And  they  shall  lis^  it,  ere  they  lisp  mine  own — 

Ere  that  poor  culprit’s  yonder,  their  own  father’s 
Befriend  us,  oh  ! befriend  us  ! ’Tis  a title 
Heaven  joys  at,  and  the  hard  and  savage  earth 
Doth  break  its  sullen  nature  to  delight  in — 

The  destitute’s  sole  friend And  thou  pass  too! 

Why,  what  a common  liar  was  thy  face,  ^ 

That  said  the  milk  of  mercy  flowed  within  thee  1 

Ye’re  all  alike.— Off  1 Off  1— Ye’re  all  alike. 

[ Exeunt  all  hut  Fazio,  the  Officer,  and  Bianca,  r. 

Bian.  [Creeping  to  Yat^io.) 

Thou  wilt  not  spurn  me,  wilt  not  trample  on  me. 

Wilt  let  me  touch  thee — I,  whose  lips  have  slain  thee  ? 
Oh,  look  not  on  me  thus  with  that  fond  look — 
i^amper  me  not,  for  long  and  living  grief 
To  prey  upon — O,  curse  me,  Fazio — 

Kill  me  with  cursing  : I am  thin  and  feeble — 

I A word  will  crush  me — any  thing  but  kindness. 

■ Faz,  Mine  own  Bianca  1 I shall  need  too  much  mercy 
Or  ere  to-morrow,  to  be  merciless. 

It  was  not  well,  Bianca,  in  my  guilt 
To  cut  me  off— thus  early — thus  unripe  : 

It  will  be  bitter,  when  the  axe  falls  on  me, 

To  think  whose  voice  did  summon  it  to  its  offlee. 

No  more — no  more  of  that : we  all  must  die. 

Bianca,  thou  wilt  love  me  when  I’am  dead  : 

I wrong’d  thee,  but  thou’lt  love  me  when  I m dead. 

Bian.  What,  kiss  me,  kiss  me,  Fazio  1- ’tis  too  much 
And  these  warm  lips  mustLe  cold  clay  to-monow. 

Anto.  Signior,  we  must  part  hence. 

Bian.  What  1 tear  me  from  him  ; • 

When  he  has  but  a few  short  hours  to  give  me  I 
R,ob  me  of  them  1 — He  hath  lain  delicately  : 

Thou  wilt  not  envy  m.e  the  wretched  office 


44 


FAZIO. 


[Act  III 


Of  strewing  the  last  pillow  he  shall  lie  on — 

Thou  wilt  not — nay,  there’s  moisture  in  thine  eye — 
Thou  wilt  not. 

Anto.  Lady,  far  as  is  the  warrant 
Of  my  stern  orders — 

Bian.  Excellent  youth  ! Heaven  thank  thee  ! 

There’s  not  another  heart  like  thine  in  Florence. 

We  shall  not  part,  we  shall  not  part,  my*Fazio  ! 

Oh,  never,  never,  never — till  to-morroio, 

Faz,  ( As  he  leads  her  out,) 

It  was  not  with  this  cold  and  shaking  hand 
I led  thee  virgin  to  the  bridal  altar.  \Flxmnt^  lu 


ACT  IV. 

Scene  I. — A prison, 

Fazio  and  Bianca,  discovered. 

Faz,  (l.  c.)  Let’s  talk  of  joy,  Bianca  : we’ll  deceive 
This  present  and  this  future,  whose  grim  faces 
Stare  at  us  with  such  deep  and  hideous  blackness  : 

We’ll  fly  to  the  past.  Dost  thou  remember,  lovo. 

Those  gentle  moonlights,  when  my  fond  guitar 
Was  regular,  as  convent  vesper  hymn. 

Beneath  thy  lattice,  sometimes  the  light  dawn 
Came  stealing  on  our  voiceless  intercourse. 

Soft  in  its  grey  and  filmy  atmosphere  ] 

Bian,  (c.)  Oh  yes,  oh  yes ! — There  ’ll  be  a dawn  to- 
morrow 

Will  steal  upon  us. — Then^  oh  then — 

Faz,  Oh,  think  not  on’t ! — , 

And  thou  remember’st  too  that  beauteous  evening 
Upon  the  Arno  ; how  we  sail’d  along. 

And  laugh’d  to  see  the  stately  towers  of  Florence 
Waver  and  dance  in  the  blue  depth  beneath  us. 

How  carelessly  thy  unretiring  hand 
Abandon’d  its  soft  whiteness  to  my  pressure  ? 


Scene  1.] 


FAZIO. 


45 


Bian.  Oh  yes  ! To-morrow  evening,  if  thou  close 

Thy  clasping  hand,  mine  will  not  meet  it  then — 

Thou  dt  only  grasp  the  chill  and  senseless  earth. 

Faz,  Thou  busy,  sad  remembrancer  of  evil ! 

How  exquisitely  happy  have  we  two 
Sate  in  the  dusky  and  discoloured  light. 

That  flicker’d  through  our  shaking  lattice  bars  ! 

Our  children  at  our  feet,  or  on  our  laps. 

Warm  in  their  breathing  slumbers,  or  at  play 

With  rosy  laughter  on  their  cheeks  ! — Oh  God  ! 

Bianca,  such  a flash  of  thought  cross’d  o’er  me, 

I dare  not  speak  it. 

Bian.  Quick,  my  Fazio  ! 

Quick,  let  me  have’t — to-morrow  thou ’It  not  speak  it. 

Faz.  Oh,  what  a life  must  theirs  be,  those  poor  innocents ! 
When  they  have  grown  up  to  a sense  of  sorrow — .. 

Oh,  what  a feast  will  there  be  for  rude  mitery  ! 

Honest  men’s  boys  and  girls,  whene’er  they  niingle, 

. Will  spurn  them  with  the  black  and  branded  title, 

“The  murderer’s  children:  ” Infamy  will  pin 
That  pestilent  label  on  their  backs  ; the  plague-spot 
Will  bloat  and  blister  on  them  till  their  death-beds; 

And  if  they  beg. — for  beggars  they  must  be — 

They’ll  drive  them  from  their  doors  with  cruel  jeers 
Upon  my  riches,  villainously  style  them 
“ The  children  of  Lord  Fazio,  the  philosopher.” 

Bian.  To-morrow  will  the  cry  begin, — to-morrow — 

It  must  not  be,  and  I sit  idle  here ! 

I Fazio,  there  must  be  in  this  wide,  wide  city. 

Piercing  and  penetrating  eyes  for  truth,.^ 

Souls  not  too  proud,  too  cold,  too  stern  for  mercy. 

I’ll  hunt  them  out,  and  swear  them  to  our  service. 

I’ll  raise  up  something — oh,  I know  not  what — 

Shall  boldly  startle  the  rank  air  of  Florence 
With  proclamation  of  thy  innocemce. 

I’ll  raise  the  dead  ! I’ll  conjure  up  the  ghost 

Of  that  old  rotten  thing,  Bartolo  ; make  it 

Cry  out  i’  the  market  place,  “ Thou  didst  not  slay  him 

Farewell,  farewell  1 If  in  the  walls  of  Florence  , 

Be  any  thing  like  hope  or  comfort,  Fazio, 
ril  clasp  it  with  such  strong  and  stedfast  arms. 


46 


FAZIO. 


Act  XV 


ril  drag  it  to  thy  dungeon,  and  make  laugh 
This  silence  with  strange  uncouth  sounds  of  joy. 

Scene  II. — A Street 

Eiiter  Falsetto,  Dandolo,  Philario,  r. 

Fal,  Good  Signior  Dandolo,  here’s  a prodigal  waste 
Of  my  fair  speeches  to  the  sage  philosopher. 

I counted  on  at  least  a two  months’  diet. 

Besides  stray  boons  of  horses,  rings,  and  jewels. 

Dan.  (r.  c.)  Oh,  my  Falsetto,  a coat  of  my  fashion 
Come  to  the  wheel ! — It  wrings  my  very  heart. 

To  fancy  how  the  seams  will  crack,  or  haply 
The  hatigmaii  will  be  seen  in’t ! — That  I should  live 
To  be  purveyor  of  the  modes  to  a hangman  ! 

'Enter  Bianca,  l. 

Bian.  They  pass  me  by  on  the  other  side  of  the  street  ;' 
They  spurn  me  from  their  doors  ; they  load  the  air  5 

With  curses  that  are  flung  on  me  ; the  P alace,  < 

The  Ducal  Palace,  that  should  aye  be  open 
To  voice  of  the  distress’d,  as  is  God’s  heaven,  | 

Is  ring’d  around  with  grim  and  armfed  savages,  ^ 

That  with  their  angry  w'eapons  smite  me  back, 

As  though  I came  with  fire  in  my  hand,  to  burn  ; 

The  royal  walls  : the  children  in  the  streets  ^ 

Break  off  their  noisy  games  to  hoot  at  me  ; ; 

And  the  dogs  from  the  porches  howl  me  on.  j 

But  here’s  a succour.—/^  To  Falsetto.  ) Oh,  good  sir,  th|5 
friend,  I 

The  man  thoii  feastedst  with  but  yesterday, 

He  to  whose  motion  thou  wast  a true  shadow,  i, 

Whose*  hand  rain’d  gifts  upon  thee — rhc,  I rnean, 

Fazio,  the  bounteous,  free,  and  liberal  Fazio — 

He’s  wrongfully  accused,  wrongfully  doom’d  : 

I swear  to  thee  ’tis  wrongfully. — Oh,  sir. 

An  eloquent  honey-dropping  tongue  like  thine, 

How  would  it  garnish  up  his  innocence. 

Till  Justice  would  grow  amorous,  and  embrace  it ! 

Fal.  Sweet  lady,  thou  o’ervaluest  my  poor  powers  : — 


Scene  li.] 


FAZIO. 


47 


Any  thing  in  reason  to  win  so  much  loveliness 
To  smile  on  me. — But  this  were  wild  and  futile. 

Bian.  In  reason  1 — ’Tis  to  save  a human  life — 

Is  not  that  in  the  spacious  realm  of  reason  ? — 

Kind  sir,  there’s  not  a prayer  will  mount  hereafter 
Heavenward  from  us  or  our  poor  children’s  lips, 

But  in  it  thy  dear  name  will  rise  embalm’d  : 

And  prayers  have  power  to  cancel  many  a sin, 

That  clogs  and  flaws  our  base  and  corrupt  nature. 

Fal.  Methinks,  good  Dandolo,  ’tis  the  hour  we  owe 
Attendance  at  the  lady  Portia’s  toilette. — 

Any  commision  in  our  way,  fair  lady  ? 

Dan,  Oh,  yes  ! I’m  ever  indispensable  there 
As  is  her  looking  glass. — 

Bian.  Riotous  madness ! 

To  waste  a breath  (detaining  them)  upon  such  thin-blown 
bubbles  ! 

Why  thou  didst  cling  to  him  but  yesterday, 

As  ’twere  a danger  of  thy  life  to  part  from  him  ; 

Didst  swear  it  was  a sin  in  Providence 

He  was  not  born  a prince. — ( ToDa?i.)  And  thou,  sir,  thou- — 

Chains,  sir,  in  May — it  is  a heavy  wear  ; 

Hard  and  unseemly,  a rude  weight  of  iron. — 

Faugh  ! cast  ye  off  this  shape  and  skin  of  men  ; 

Ye  stain  it,  ye  pollute  it — be  the  reptiles 

Ye  are. — ( To  Phil.)  And  thou,  sir — I know  in  whose  porch 

He  hired  thee  to  troll  out  thy  fulsome  ditties  : 

I know  whose  dainty  ears  were  last  night  banqueted 
With  the  false  harlotry  of  thy  rich  airs. 

Phil.  I do  beseech  thee,  lady,  judge  me  not 
So  harshly.  In  the  state.  Heaven  knows.  I’m  powerless — 
I could  remove  yon  palace  walls,  as  soon 
As  alter  his  sad  doom.  But  if  to  visit  him. 

To  tend  him  with  a soft  officious  zeal. 

Waft  the  mild  magic  of  mine  art  around  him, 

jMaking  the  chill  and  lazy  dungeon  air 

iMore  smooth,  more  gentle  to  the  trammell’d  breathing 

jAll  that  I can  I will,  to  make  his  misery 

{Slide  from  him  light  and  airily. 

Bian.  Wilt  thou  % 

' Why  then  there’s  hope  the  devil  hath  not  all  Florence. 


48 


[Act  IV 


y^AO, 

Go — go  ! — I cannot  point  thee  out  the  way  : 

Mine  eyes  are  cloudy ; it^  is  the  first  rain 
Hath  dew’d  them,  since — since  when  I cannot  tell  thee.-- 
Go — go  ! — [Exeunt  Ehilario  and  DandolOy  l. 

One  effort  more — and  if  I fail 

But  by  the  inbred  and  instinctive  tenderness 
That  mingles  with  the  life  of  womanhood, 

I cannot  fail — and  then,  thou  grim  to-morrow. 

I’ll  meet  thee  with  a bold  and  unblench’d  front.  [Exity  l 

Scene  III. — Palace  of  Aldahella, 

Enter  Aldabella,  r. 

Md,  ( R.  c.)  Fazio  in  prison  ! Fazio  doom’d  to  die  ! — 

I was  too  hasty  ; should  have  fled,  and  bashfully 
Beckoned  him  after ; lured  him,  not  seized  on  him. 

Proud  Aldabella  a poor  robber’s  paramour ! ^ 

Oh,  it  sounds  dismal ! Florence  must  not  hear  it. — ; 

And  sooth,  his  time  is  brief  to  descant  on  it. — . 

Enter  Bianca,  l. 

And  who  art  thou,  thus  usherless  and  unbidden  ^ 

Scarest  my  privacy  ] • 

Plan,  ( Aside,  l.  cj  I must  not  speak  yet ; 

For  if  I do,  a curse  will  clog  my  utterance. 

Aid,  Nay,  stand  not  with  thy  pale  lips  quivering  notk»' 
ings—  ! 

Speak  out,  and  freely.  v 

Plan,  Lady,  there  is  on§ — | 

Fie,  fie  upon  this  choking  in  my  throat — i 

One  thou  didst  love, — Giraldi  F azio  ; — J 

One  who  loved  thee, — Giraldi  Fazio. — ^ | 

He’s  doom’d  to  die,  to  die  to-morrow  morning ; 

And  lo,  ’tis  eve  already  ! — 

Aid,  He  is  doom’d  1 — 

Why,  then,  the  man  must  die. — 

Plan,  Nay,  gentle  lady 

Thou’rt  high-born,  Tich,  and  beautiful : the  prince** 

The  prime  of  Florence  wait  upon  thy  smiles, 

Like  sunflowers  on  the  golden  light  they  love 


Scene  III.] 


FAZIO. 


49 


Thy  lips  have  such  sweet  melody,  ’tis  hung  upon 
Till  silence  is  an  agony.  Did  it  plead 
"*01'  one  condemn’d,  but  oh,  most  innocent, 

T would  be  a music  th’  air  would  fall  in  love  with, 

\.nd  never  let  it  die  till  it  had  won 
its  honest  purpose. 

Aid,  Wliat  a wanton  waste 
Of  idle  praise  is  here  ! 

Bian,  Nay  think,  oh  think. 

What  ’tis  to  give  again  a forfeit  life  : 

Ay,  such  a life  as  Fazio’s  !— Frown  not  on  me  : 

Thou  think’st  that  he’s  a murderer — ’tis  all  false ; 

A trick  of  Fortune,  fancifully  cruel. 

To  cheat  the  world  of  such  a life  as  Fazio’s. 

Aid,  Frivolous  and  weak  : I could  not  if  I would. 

Bian,  Nay,  but  I’ll  lure  thee  with  so  rich  a boon — 
Hear — ^liear,  and  thou  art  won.  If  thou  dost  save  him, 

It  is  but  just  he  should  be  saved  for  thee. 

I give  him  thee — Bianca — I,  his  wife — 

I pardon  all  that  has  been,  all  that  may  be — 

Oh,  I will  be  thy  handmaid ; be  so  patient — 

Calmly,  contentedly,  and  sadly  patient — 

And  if  ye  see  a pale  or  envious  motion 
Upon  my  cheek,  a quivering  on  my  lips, 

Like  to  complaint — then  strike  him  dead  before  me. 

Thou  shalt  enjoy  all — all  that  I enjoy’d  : — 

His  love,  his  life,  his  sense,  his  soul  be  thine  ; 

And*I  will  bless  thee,  in  my  misery  bless  thee. 

Aid,  What  mist  is  on  thy  wild  and  wandering  eyes  ? 
Know’st  thou  to  whom  and  where  thou  play’st  the  raver  ? 
I,  Aldabella,  whom  the  amorous  homage 
Of  rival  lords  and  princes  stirs  no  more, 

Than  the  light  passing  of  the  common  air — 

I,  Aldabella,  when  my  voice  might  make 
Thrones  render  up  their  stateliest  to  my  service — 

Stoop  to  the  sordid  sweepings  of  a prison  1 

Bian,  Proud-lipped  woman,  earth’s  most  gorgeous  sov- 
ereigns 

Were  worthless  of  my  Fazio  ! Foolish  woman, 

Thou  cast’st  a jewel  off ! The  proudest  lord 


50 


FAZIO. 


Act  IV 


That  ever  reveird  in  thy  unchaste  arms. 

Was  a swarth  galley-slave  to  Fazio. 

Ah  me  ! ah  me  ! e’en  I,  his  lawful  wife, 

Know’t  not  more  truly,  certainly  than  thou.— 

Hadst  thou  loved  him.  I had  pardon’d,  pitied  thee  : 

We  two  had  sate,  all  coldly,  palely  sad  ; 

Dropping,  like  statues  on  a fountain  side, 

A pure,  a silent,  and  eternal  dew. 

Hadst  thou  outwept  me,  I had  loved  thee  for’t — 

And  that  were  easy,  for  I’m  stony  here.  [Putiing  her  hand 

to  her  eyes,] 

Aid,  Ho  there  ! to  tli’  hospital  for  the  lunatics  ! 

Fetch  succour  for  this  poor  distraught — 

Bian,  What  said  1 1 

Oh  pardon  me,  I came  not  to  upbraid  thee — 

Think,  think — I’ll  whisper  it.  I’ll  not  betray  thee  : 

The  air’s  a tell-tale,  and  the  walls  are  listeners ; — 

Think  what  a change  ! Last  night  within  thy  chamber  ; 
(I’ll  not  say  in  thy  arms ; for  that  displeases  thee. 

And  sickens  me  to  utter,)  and  to-night 
Upon  a prison  pallet,  straw,  hard  straw; 

For  eastern  perfumes,  the  rank  noisome  air ; 

For  gentle  harpings,  shrilly  clanking  chains; — 

Nay,  turn  not  off’:  the  worst  is  yet  to  come. 

To-moiTOW  at  his  waking,  for  thy  face 
Languidly,  lovingly  down  drooping  o’er  him. 

The  scarr’d  and  haggard  executioner  ! 

Aid,  ( Turning  aicay.)  There  is  a dizzy  trembling  in 
mine  eye ; 

But  I must  dry  the  foolish  dew  for  shame. 

Well,  what  is  it  to  me  ? I slew  him  not ; 

Nay,  nor  denounced  him  to  the  judgment-seat. 

I out  debase  myself  to  lend  free  hearing 
To  such  coarse  fancies. — I must  hence  to-night 
I feast  the  lords  of  Florence.  [Exit,  r. 

Bian,  They’re  all  lies  : 

Things  done  with  in  some  far  and  distant  planet, 

Or  offscum  of  some  dreamy  poet’s  brain. 

All  tales  of  human  goodness  ! Or  they’re  legends 
Left  us  of  some  good  old  forgotten  time, 

Ere  harlotry  became  a queenly  sin, 


SeswE  IV.] 


FAZIO, 


61 


in  palaces.  Oh,  earth’s  so  crowded 
With  V ice,  tliat  if  strange  Viitue  stray  abroad, 

I ney  hoot  it  from  them  like  a thing  accurst, 
b azio,  my  Fazio  .'—but  we’ll  laugh  at  them  : 

We  will  not  stay  upon  their  wicked  soil, 
en  though  they  sue  us  not  to  die  and  leave  them.  [ ExU  h. 

Scene  IV.— Fazio’s  House. 

Enter  Bianca,  l. 


Bian.  (c.)  Ah,  what  a fierce  and  frantic  coil  is  here 
xJecause  the  sun  must  shine  on  one  man  less  ' 

I m sick  and  weary— my  feet  drag  along. 

y must  I trail,  like  a scotch’d  serpent,  hither  1 
Were  to  this  house,  where  all  things  breathe  of  Fazio  ? 


rpi  . ■ ' -**^*.v>  uitJciLiie  oi  r az 

Ihe  air  tastes  of  him— the  walls  whisper  of  him.— 
Jh,  1 11  to  bed  ! to  bed  ! What  find  I there  ? 


Fazio,  my  fond,  my  gentle,  fervent  Fazio  1 

T are  his  couch,  harsh  iron  bars 

^urtain  his  slumbers— oh,  no,  no,— I have  it— 
le  is  in  Aldabella’s  arms. Out  on’t ! 


i?  I 1 j WU.I/  UIJ.  L i 

Ib'.v  rank,  that’s  noisome !— I remember- 

Mr  children — ay,  my  children — Fazio’s  children, 
li  was  my  thoughts’  burthen  as  I came  alono- 
Vere  it  not  wise  to  bear  them  off  with  us  “ 

Lway  from  this  cold  world  !-Why  should  we  breed  up 
^re  sinneis  for  the  Devil  to  prey  upon 
here’s  one  a boy— some  strumpet  will  enlace  him, 
md  make  him  wear  her  loathsome  livery, 
he  other  a girl  : if  she  be  ill,  she’il  sink 
potted  to  death— she’ll  be  an  Aldabella: 
she  be  chaste,  she’ll  be  a wretch  like  me, 
jealous  wretch,  a frantic  guilty  wretch. 


o,  no  : they  must  not  live,  they  must  not  live  ! 

[Exit  into  a hack  chamher,  l.  d.  r.  After  a pause  she  returns. 


Will  not  be,  it  will  not  be — they  woke 

“"y  presence; 

.id  then  they  smiled  upon  me  fondly,  playfully 
nd stretch’d  their  rosy  fingers  to  sport  with  me; 


FAZIO. 


[Act  V. 


62 

The  bov  <lid  ai'cli  his  eyebrows  so  liKe  Fazio,  . - • • 
Though  my  soul  wish’d  that  God  would  take  them  to  mm, 
That  they  were  ’scaped  this  miserable  woild, 

I could  but  kiss  them ; and,  when  I had  kissed  them, 

I could  as  soon  have  leap’d  up  to  the  moon. 

As  speck’d  or  soil’d  their  alabaster  skins. 

Wild  that  I am !— Take  them  t’  another  world— 

As  though  I,  I,  my  husband’s  murderess. 

In  the  dread  separation  of  the  dead. 

Should  meet  again  those  spotless  innocents  . 

5h?  happy  they  1-they  will  but  know  to-morrow 

By  the  renewal  of  the  soft  warm  daylight.  {Lxit,  R, 

END  OF  ACT  IV. 


ACT  V. 

Scene  l.—A  Street— Morning  TioiUght. 

Enfe?'  Bianca. 

Bian.  Where  have  I been  1— I have  not  been  at  rest,- 
There’s  yet  the  stir  of  motion  in  my  limbs. 

Oh,  I remember — ’tivas  a hideous  striie 
Within  my  brain I felt  that  all  was  hopeless. 

Yet  would  not  credit  it ; and  I set  tortti 
To  tell  my  Fazio  so,  and  dared  not  front  him 
With  such  cold  comfort.  Then  . mist  came  o’er  me, 
And  something  drove  me  on,  and  on,  and  on,  ^ 

Street  after  street,  each  blacker  than  th^e 

And  a blue  axe  did  shimmer  through  the  gloom 

Its  fiery  edge  did  waver  to  and  no 

And  there  were  infants’  voices,  faint  and  wailing. 

That  panted  after  me.  I knew  I fled  them  ; 

Yet  could  not  choose  but  fly.  And  then,  oh,  the  , 

I gazed  and  gazed  upon  the  starless  darkness. 

And  blest  it  in  my  soul,  for  it  was  deeply 
And  beautifully  black— no  speck  of  light . 


Scene  I.] 


FAZIO. 


53 


And  I had  feverish  and  fantastic  hopes 
That  it  would  last  for  ever,  nor  give  place 

To  th’  horrible  to-mmrow. Ha,  ’tis  there ! 

’Tis  the  grey  morning  light  aches  in  mine  eyes — 

It  is  that  morrow  ! Ho  ! — Look  out ! look  out ! 

With  what  a hateful  and  unwonted  swiftness 

It  scares  my  comfortable  darkness  from  me  ! 

Fool  that  1 am  ! I Ve  lost  the  few  brief  hours 
Yet  left  me  of  my  Fazio  ! — Oh,  away, 

Away  to  him ! — away ! • \Exit, 

Scene  II. — The  Prison — totally  dark,  except  a lamp. 
Fazio  and  Philario. 

Faz,  I thank  thee  : ’twas  a melancholy  hymn, 

But  soft  and  soothing  as  the  gale  of  eve. 

The  gale  whose  flower-sweet  breath  no  more  shall  pass 
o’er  me. 

Oh,  what  a gentle  ministrant  is  music 
To  piety — to  mild,  to  penitent  piety  ! 

Oh,  it  gives  plumage  to  the  tardy  prayer 
That  lingers  in  our  lazy  earthly  air, 

A.nd  melts  with  it  to  heaven. To  die  : ’tis  dreary; 

To  die  a villain’s  death,  that’s  yet  a pang. 

But  it  must  down : I have  so  steep’d  my  soul 
in  the  bitter  ashes  of  true  penitence. 

That  they  have  put  on  a delicious  savour, 

AluJ  all  is  halcyon  quiet,  all  within. 

Bianca  ! — where  is  she  1 — why  comes  she  not  ? 
iTet  I do  almost  wish  her  not  to  come, 
best  she  again  enamour  me  of  life. 

Phil,  Hast  thou  no  charge  to  her,  no  fond  beque«t  ? 
t shall  lose  little  by  my  bearing  it. 

Faz.  Oh  yes,  oh  yes  ! — I have  her  picture  here  ; •* 

Chat  I had  seen  it  in  one  hour  of  my  life, 
n Aldabella’s  arms  had  it  looked  on  me, 

. should  have  had  one  sin  less  to  repent  of. 

’m  loth  the  coarse  and  vulgar  executioner 
>hould  handle  it  with  his  foul  gripe,  or  pass 
lis  ribald  jests  upon  it. — Give  it  her. 

[ With  the  picture  he  draws  out  some  gold,  on  which  he 
looks  unth  great  apparent  melancholy. 


54 


FAZIO. 


[Act  V 


Fhil,  And  this  too,  sir  ] 

Faz,  Oh,  touch  it  not,  Philario  ! 

Oh,  touch  it  not ! — ’tis  venomous,  ’tis  viperous  ! 

If  there  be  bottomless  sea,  unfathom’ d pit 
In  earth’s  black  womb — oh,  plunge  it,  plunge  it  deep, 
Deep,  dark  ! or  if  a devil  be  abroad. 

Give  it  to  him,  to  bear  it  whence  it  came. 

To  its  own  native  hell. — Oh  no,  no,  no  ! — 

He  must  not  have  it : for  with  it  he’ll  betray 
More  men,  moremoble  spirits  than  Lucifer 
Drew  down  .from  heaven.  This  yellow  pestilence 
Laid  waste  my  Eden ; made  a gaudy  bird  of  me. 

For  soft  temptation’s  silken  nets  to  snare. 

It  crept  in  to  us — Sin  came  with  it — Misery 
Dogg’d  its  foul  footsteps — ever-deep’ning  Sin, 

And  ever-dark’ning  Misery. Philario, 

Away  with  it ! — away! — ( Takes  the  picture,) — Here’s  fair-  , 
er  gazing.  J 

Thou  wouldst  not  think  these  smooth  and  smiling  lips  J 
Could  speak  away  a life — a husband’s  life. 

Yet,  ah  I I led  the  way  to  sin — I wronged  her  : t 

Yet  Heaven  be  witness,  though  I wronged  her,  loved  her,  i 
E’en  in  my  heart  of  heart.  r 

Enter  Bianca,  l.  :| 

Bian.  Who’s  that  Bianca,  ” 

That’s  loved  so  deeply  ? — Fazio,  Fazio,  Fazio — ■ 

It  is  that  moi'Tow  ! j 

Faz.  Nay,  look  cheeringly  : | 

It  may  be  God  doth  punish  in  this  world  ^ 

To  spare  hereafter.  - 

Bian,  Fazio,  set  me  loose  1 — 

Thou  clasp’st  thy  murderess. 

Faz.  No,  it  is  my  love, 

My  wife,  my  children’s  mother  ! — Pardon  me, 

Bianca  ; but  thy  children I’ll  not  see  them  : 

For  on  the  wax  of  a soft  infant’s  memory 
Things  horrible  sink  deep,  and  sternly  settle. 

I would  not  have  them,  in  their  after-days. 

Cherish  the  image  of  their  wretched  father 
In  the  cold  darkness  of  a prison-house. 


Scene  II.] 


FAZIO. 


55 


Oh,  if  they  ask  thee  of  their  father,  tell  them 
That  he  is  dead,  but  say  not  how. 

Bian,  No,  no — 

Not  tell  them,  that  their  mother  murder’d  him 
Faz,  But  are  they  well,  my  love  % 

Bian,  What,  had  I freed  them 
From  this  drear  villains’  earth,  sent  them  before  as, 

Lest  we  should  miss  them  in  another  world, 

And  so  be  fetter’d  by  a cold  regret 
Of  this  sad  sunshine  % 

Faz,  Oh,  thou  hast  not  been 
So  wild  a rebel  to  the  will  of  God  ! 

If  that  thou  hast,  ’twill  make  my  passionate  arms, 

That  ring  thee  round  so  fondly,  drop  off  from  thee, 

Like  sere  and  wither’d  ivy  ; make  my  farewell 
Spoken  in  such  suffocate  and  distemper’d  tone, 

’Twill  sound  more  like 

Bian.  They  live  ! thank  God,  they  live  ! 

I should  not  rack  thee  with  such  fantasies  : 

But  there  have  been  such  hideous  things  around  me, 

Some  whispering  me,  some  dragging  me  ; I’ve  felt 
Not  half  a moment’s  calm  since  last  we  parted, 

So  exquisite,  so  gentle,  as  this  now — 

1 could  sleep  on  thy  bosom,  F azio. 

Re-enter  Antonio,  r. 

Ant,  Prisoner, 

Thine  hour  is  come. 

Bian.  It  is  not  morning  yet — 

Where  is  the  twilight  that  should  usher  it  1 
Where  is  the  sun,  that  should  come  golden  on  1 
Ill-favoured  liar,  to  come  prate  of  morning. 

With  torch-light  in  thy  hand  to  scare  the  darkness. 

Ant,  Thou  dost  forget ; day’s  light  ne’er  pierceth  here  : 
The  sun  hath  kindled  up  the  open  air. 

Bian.  I say,  ’tis  but  an  hour  since  it  was  evening, 
dreary,  measureless,  and  mournful  hour, 

Yet  but  an  hour. 

Faz.  I will  obey  thee,  officer  ! 

Yet  but  a word — Bianca,  ’tis  a strange  one — 

Can’st  thou  endure  it,  dearest  ? — Aldabella—— 


FAZIO. 


Scene  ITL] 


56 

Bian»  Curse- her! 

Faz.  Peace,  peace  !— ’tis  dangerous  ; sinners’  curses 
Pluck  them  down  tenfold  from  the  angry  heavens 
Upon  the  curser’s  head. — Beseech  thee,  peace  ! 

Forgive  her — for  thy  Fazio’s  sake,  forgive  her. 

Blan,  Any  thing  not  to  think  on  her Not  yet 

They  shall  not  kill  thee — by  my  faith  they  sliall  not ! 

I’ll  clasp  mine  arms  so  closely  round  thy  neck, 

That  the  red  axe  shall  hew  them  off,  ere  shred 
A hair  of  thee  : I will  so  mingle  with  thee, 

That  they  shall  strike  at  random,  and  perchance 
Set  me  free  first — 

[ The  hell  sounds,  her  grasp  relaxes,  and  she  stands  torpid. 
F'azio  kisses  her,  ivhich  she  does  not  seem  to  he  conscious  of. 

Faz.  Farewell,  farewell,  farewell ! — 

She  does  not. feel,  she  does  not  feel ! — Thank  heaven. 

She  does  not  feel  her  Fazio’s  last,  last  kiss  ! — 

One  other !— cold  as  stone— sweet,  sweet  as  roses.  \Fixit  r. 
Bian.  ( Sloioly  recovering,  r.  c.)  Gone,  gone  I — he  is  not 
air  yet,  not  thin  spirit  1 — 

He  should  not  glide  away — ^he  is  not  guilty — 

Ye  murder  and  not  execute. — Not  guilty  ! 

\Fxit,  followed  hy  Fhilario,  r. 

Scene  III. — A magnificent  apartment  in  the  palace  of  Mda^ 
hella — every  appearance  of  a hall  prolonged  till  morning. 

Duke,  Lords,  Falsetto,  Dandolo,  and  Aldabella 
discovered. 

Duke.  ’Tis  late,  ’tis  late  ; the  yellow  morning  light 
Streams  in  upon  our  sick  and  waning  lamps. 

It  was  a jocund  night : but  good  my  friends, 

The  sun  reproves  our  lingering  revelry  ; 

And,  angry  at  our  scorning  of  his  state, 

Will  shine  the  slumber  from  our  heavy  eyes. 

Gon.  There’s  one,  my  liege,  will  sleep  more  calm  than 
we  : 

But  now  I heard  the  bell  with  iron  tongue 


Scene  III.] 


FAZIO. 


57 


Speak  out  unto  the  still  and  common  air 
The  death-stroke  of  the  murderer  Fazio. 

Duke.  So,  lady,  fare  thee  well : our  gentlest  thanks 
For  thy  fair  entertaining. — Ha  ! what’s  here  ] 

Enter  Bianca,  l.  followed  by  Philario. 

Bian.  Ha ! ye’ve  been  dancing,  dancing — so  have  I : 
But  mine  was  heavy  music,  slow  and  solemn — 

A bell,  a bell : my  thick  blood  roll’d  to  it. 

My  heart  swung  to  and  fro,  a dull  deep  motion. 

[Seeing  Aldabella 

’Tis  thou,  ’tis  thou  ! — I came  to  tell  thee  something. 

Aid.  ( Alarmed  and  shrieking.)  Ah  me  ! ah  me  ! 

Bian.  Nay,  shrink  not — I’ll  not  kill  thee  : 

For  if  I do,  I know,  in  the  other  world, 

Thou’lt  shoot  between  me  and  my  richest  joys. — 

Thou  shalt  stay  here — I’ll  have  him  there — all — all  of  him. 
Duke.  What  means  the  wild-hair’d  manaic  ] 

Bian.  ( Moving  him  aside.)  By  and  by — 

[ To  Aldabella, 

[ tell  thee,  that  warm  cheek  thy  lips  did  stray  on 
But  yesternight,  ’tis  cold  and  colourless  : 

The  breath,  that  stiiT’d  among  thy  jetty  locks. 

That  was  such  incense  to  thee — ^it  is  fled  : 

The  voice,  that  call’d  thee  then  his  soul  of  soul — 

I know  it — ’twas  his  favourite  phrase  of  love — 

I’ve  heard  it  many  a time  myself — ’twas  rapturous  ; 

That  mild,  that  musical  voice  is  frozen  now  : 

The  neck  whereon  thy  arms  did  hang  so  tenderly. 

There’s  blood  upon  it,  blood — I tell  thee,  blood. 

Dost  thou  hear  that  ] is  thy  brain  fire  to  hear  it  ? 

Mine  is,  mine  is,  mine  is. 

Duke.  ’Tis  Fazio’s  wife. 

Bian.  It  is  not  Fazio’s  wife.  Have  the  dead  wives  ? 
Ay,  ay,  my  liege  ; and  I know  thee,  and  well— 

Thou  art  the  rich-robed  minister  of  the-  laws. 

Fine  laws  ! rare  laws  ! most  equitable  laws  ! 

Who  robs  his  neighbour  of  his  yellow  dust, 

Or  his  bright  sparkling  stones,  or  such  gay  trash, 

Oh,  he  must  die,  die  for  the  public  good. 


58 


FAZIO. 


[Act  V 


And  if  one  steal  a husband  from  his  wife, 

Do  dive  into  her  heart  for  its  best  treasure, 

Do  rend  asunder  whom  Heaven  link’d  in  one — 

Oh,  they  are  meek,  and  merciful,  and  milky — 

’Tis  a trick  of  human  frailty Oh,  fine  laws  ! 

Rare  laws  ! most  equitable  laws  ! 

Duke,  Poor  wretch. 

Who  is  it  thus  hath  wrong’d  thee  h 

Bian.  ( To  the  Duke.)  Come  thou  here. 

[ The  others  crowd  around  her — she  says  to  Falsetto, 
Get  back,  get  back  : the  god  that  thou  ador’st. 

Thy  god  is  dead,  thou  pitiful  idolater ! 

[ To  Dandolo — shewing  her  dress. 
I know  they  are  coarse  and  tatter’d — Get  thee  back. 

[ To  the  Duke. 

I tell  thee,  that  rich  woman — she My  liege, 

I’ll  speak  anon — my  lips  do  cling  together, 

There’s  dust  about  my  tongue — I cannot  move  it. 

Duke.  Ho,  there  ! some  wine  ! 

Bian.  Thank  thee,  ’tis  moist — I thank  thee  ! 

[As  she  raises  thegohlet  to  her  lips^  she  sees  Aldabella,  cnA 
dashes  it  away.] 

Her  lips  have  been  upon  it — I’ll  have  none  on’t. 

Aid.  My  liege,  thou  wilt  not  hearken  to  the  tale 
Of  a mad  woman,  venting  her  sick  fancies 
Upon  a lady  of  my  state  and  honour  ! 

Duke.  Lady,  there  is  one  state  alone,  that  holds 
Above  the  range  of  plumed  and  restless  justice 
Her  throned  majesty — the  state  of  Virtue. 

Poor  sad  distraught,  speak  on. 

Bian.  I am  not  mad. 

Thou  smooth-lipp’d  slanderer ! I have  been  mad. 

And  then  my  words  came  vague,  and  loose,  and  broken ; 
But  no\^  there’s  mode  and  measure  in  my  speech. 

I’ll  hold  my  brain ; and  then  I’ll  tell  my  tale 
Simply  and  clearly.  Fazio,  my  poor  Fazio — 

He  murdered  not — ^he  found  Bartolo  dead. 

The  wealth  did  shine  in  his  eyes — and  he  was  dazzled. 
And  when  that  he  was  gaily  gilded  up, 


Scene  HI.] 


FAZIO 


69 


She,  she,  I say — nay,  keep  away  from  her, 

For  she  hath  witchcraft  all  around  her — she 
Did  take  him  to  her  chamber.  Fie,  my  liege  ! 

What  should  my  husband  in  her  chamber  ? then, 

A.y — then,  I maddened. Hark  ! hark  I hark  ! — the  bell, 

The  bell  that  I set  knolling — hark — Here,  here. 

Massy  and  cold  it  strikes — Here,  here.  [Clasping  her  fore- 

head» 

Gon.  Sad  woman  ! 


Fear  not  so  piteously  thy  disorder’d  hair  ! 

Bian.  I do  not  tear  my  hair  : there  should  be  pain 
-f  that  I did  ; but  all  my  pain’s  within.  [ With  her  hand  to 


her  hosoin, 

t will  not  break,  it  will  not  break — ’tis  iron. 

Duke,  If  this  be  true— - 
Phil.  My  liege,  it  is  the  tale 
That  Fazio  told  me  ere  he  died. 

Bian.  Ay,  sir, 

?he  dying  lie  not — he,  a dying  man, 

iied  not — and  I,  a dying  woman,  lie  not ; * 

'^or  I shall  die,  spite  of  this  iron  here. 

Duke  [to  Aldabella.)  There  is  confession  in  thy  guilty 
cheeks. 

"hou  high-born  baseness  ! beautiful  deformity  ! 
)ishonoured  honour  ! — How  hast  thou  discredited 
l11  that  doth  fetter  admiration’s  eye, 
ind  made  us  out  of  love  with  loveliness  ! 
j do  condemn  thee,  woman,  by  the  warrant 
if  this  my  ducal  diadem,  to  put  on  thee 
j’he  rigid  convent  vows  : there  bleach  anew 
'j'hy  sullied  breast ; there  temper  thy  rank  blood 
jay  ashes  to  thy  soul ; swathe  thy  hot  skin 
n sackcloth  ; and  God  give  thee  length  of  days, 

( * atone,  by  this  world’s  misery,  this  world’s  sin. 

[Exit  Aldabella,  r. 
Bian.  Bless  thee.  Heaven  bless  thee  ! — Yet  it  must  not 
be. 


► Ly  Fazio  said  we  must  forgive  her — Fazio 
aid  so  ; and  all  he  said  is  best  and  wisest. 

Duke,  She  shall  have  her  desert : aught  more  to  ask  of  us  ? 


60 


I AZIP 


[A.CT 


Sian,  My  childreii — thou’lt  protect  tliem — Oh,  my  liege 
Make  them  not  ^ich  : let  them  be  poor  and  honest. 

Duke.  I will,  I will. 

Bian.  Why,  then,  ’tis  time,  "tis  time. 

And  thou  believ’st  he  is  no  murderer  i {DvkipM?ows 


oiyJZC,  J 

Thou’lt  lay  me  near  him,  and  keep  her  away  fr  )m  u° 
Tt  breaks,  it  breaks,  it  breaks, — it  is  not  iron  , 


Tiip  Curtain  Falls. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS-URBANA 


3 0112  067298064 


